


Street Smarts

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Drama, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-10
Updated: 2008-07-10
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 39,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian is just one of many rent-boys who work these streets.  When Justin shows up, almost accidentally, Brian is drawn to him and takes him under his wing.  But life is complicated, and the boys can't live like this forever, so what will they do?





	1. How We Got Here

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Originally posted under another penname; now re-posted under this penname.  Will be deleted soon under the other name.  


* * *

Brian was frozen and tired.

He'd been living like this for a few months, and found out the hard way that it wasn't the romantic life it appeared to be in the movies or in books.  

It was late at night, and all of the decent people in this city were asleep, or at work, or something like that.  But Brian was a creature of the night, like any other small scavenger.  He wrapped his second-hand leather jacket around himself, trying to keep the cold wind out.  It did no good.

He wasn't the only one out working tonight.  One of his 'friends', a tall, slender boy named Emmett, who Brian figured was younger than his own 17 years, was standing only a dozen feet away, leaning up against a light post.  Brian walked over to him.

"Don't you have anything warmer than that jacket, hon?" Emmett asked, looking sideways at the handsome teenager.

"Yeah, sure.  Next time I go out, I'll wear the parka Mummy bought me."  Brian scoffed. 

"You could do better than that jacket, you know.  Look at mine!"  Emmett twirled around in a small circle, showing it off.

"Sure, Em.  Except I'm not a cross dresser."  Brian stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I'm not a cross dresser," Emmett protested.  "I'm a sex kitten."  He smirked.  

"Same difference," Brian replied, looking at his long pale brown hair, knee length jacket, fishnet stockings, and high heeled boots.  "Hell, if I didn't know you, I'd swear you were a girl."

"Make up does wonders," Emmett replied, batting mascara-covered lashes at Brian.  A car started down the street, and they immediately put on their well practiced airs.  Sexy.  Hot.  

The car slowed down, and then came to a stop.  All the boys on the strip looked at it, hoping that they were the one he was looking for.  Whoever he was.

"Hey you.  With the boots."  A male voice floated out the window.  "Come here."

Emmett walked up to the window, and spoke quietly with the man before getting in the car.  He drove off.

Brian sighed.  He needed money.  It wouldn't take much to get him a bed at the YMCA, and although he usually wouldn't spring for it, it was cold enough tonight that he might.

Another car rolled down the street, and Brian pulled himself up, trying to look alluring and young and hot.  Trying to be whatever this guy wanted.

The car stopped.  "How much?" floated out the window.

Brian walked to the door and got in.

                                                            ******

"You're a fag?" Craig yelled.  "Is that what you're trying to tell me, Justin?"

Justin looked at him.  "Yeah Dad.  I'm a fag."

Craig's face turned bright red, and he threw the sketchpad in his hands to the floor.  It landed with a violent smack that made Justin flinch.  

"Craig, please," Jennifer Taylor tried to calm her irate husband.  "I..he's…"  But she was speechless.  Maybe she'd assumed it was true, but to hear it from Justin himself was mind-boggling.

"No.  You're only 16 years old!  You're too young to have decided something like that!"  Craig was pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage.

"I didn't _decide_ it!" Justin said angrily.  "It's always been like that.  Always!  Just because you don't want to believe it doesn't mean it isn't true."

"Well, you better just decide it isn't!" Craig thundered angrily.  "This can be fixed."

"Fixed?  There's nothing to fix!" Justin cried.  He clenched his fists, trying to suppress his urge to scream, to hit someone, to throw something. 

"Yes there is!  No son of mine is going to be a—a faggot!"

Justin had had enough of this.  He threw his hands up.  "Fine!  I'm leaving!"  He started towards his room, figuring he'd pack and go to Daphne's.  After that…well, he'd figure it out.

"I'm not done with you!" Craig growled, getting in his way.

"Let me past," Justin said, trying to sidestep him.  Craig grabbed Justin's upper arms hard, and shoved him against the wall with enough force to knock Justin's breath from his chest.

Justin felt real fear then.  His father had never, ever touched him in anger before.  Never hit him, never slapped him, never even spanked him.  And now he had him shoved against the wall, gasping for air.

"Craig, stop!" Jennifer cried, but she was ignored. 

"You better forget this nonsense, you understand?" Craig spit, inches from Justin's face.  Justin didn't speak.  His heart was hammering, and he couldn't figure out what he could possibly say.

Craig slapped him.  Hard.  Justin let out a muffled yelp of pain as his tooth bit into his lip.  "Answer me Justin!" Craig yelled, shaking his son hard.

Justin was terrified, but he was also angry.  "It's not nonsense," he said, the coppery taste of blood heavy in his mouth.  "It's how I am."

"The fuck it is!"  Craig slapped him again.  Justin bit back a cry as his face burned from the contact.

"Stop it Craig!  He's bleeding!"  Jennifer sounded near tears.  "You're hurting him!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw Molly.  Her eyes were huge where she was curled up, hiding behind the couch.  _Fuck_.  She didn't need to see this.   

"Mom, get Molly," Justin said quietly, swallowing blood so he could speak.  Jennifer followed his gaze to where Molly was curled, crying, behind the couch.  She ran over to her and picked her up, whisking her out of the living room.

"You need to learn how to be a man!" Craig hissed, slapping Justin again, hard enough to turn his head to the side

"You hit like a girl," Justin spit angrily, blood sprinkling his shirt.  "You're gonna teach me how to be a man?"  His words were angry and taunting, his only power against his father's insanity.  

Craig raised his fist and Justin instinctually ducked hard.  Craig's grip was like iron around his left bicep, but his other arm was free.  He made a fist and swung with all his strength for Craig's stomach.

It connected.  Craig released him with a surprised gasp, and Justin ran for the stairs.  He was packing and getting out right now, before his father did any more damage.

Justin wanted to cry, but somehow, he didn't.  He ran down the hall, past Molly's room.  He could see Molly in there, curled in a lump under the covers.  Shit.

He stopped, and wiped the blood off his lip with his sweater sleeve.  Then he went into her room and shut the door.

"Mollusk?" he said quietly. He heard a sniffle, and then she said, "Justy?"

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing the answer.  No, she wasn't okay.  Her father had hurt her brother, and she'd seen it.  Justin heard his mother and father screaming downstairs.

The little redhead sat up and looked at him.  "Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whimper.

"No," Justin lied.  His face ached, his lip burned, and his heart was broken.  "Listen, Moll.  I've got to go.  Hopefully, I'll see you soon, but if I don't, just remember…that I love you.  Okay?"  He held his arms open, and Molly hugged him tight.

"Okay.  I love you too," she said.

"Thanks brat."  Justin smiled at her, and then went into the bathroom that connected their rooms.

He caught his reflection in the mirror.  He looked awful.  His lip had split, and there was still blood oozing from it.  He could see a deep red blotch on his cheek too, and knowing his fair skin, it would probably be a whopper of a bruise by morning.  He grabbed a Kleenex and pressed it against his lip before entering his room.

He locked his door, and the bathroom door.  No need to be a damn fool about things.  He could still hear his parents screaming at each other downstairs, and he was grateful for it.  He'd be able to pack and leave before Craig could intercept him for round two.

He emptied his backpack of schoolwork and started tossing clothes into it.  Underwear, socks, two pairs of jeans, two shirts.  He took off his bloodstained shirt and put on a clean one, and then a hoodie over it.  He also tossed his sketchpad and some pencils into his bag.  He didn't plan on going to school tomorrow, not with a split lip and bruised cheek, so he left his schoolwork on the bed.  After a moment, he grabbed a small framed photo off his dresser and tossed it in.  It was a picture of Mom, Mollusk, and him at Disneyworld the summer before.  

His wallet was already in his pocket.  He had what he needed.  He pulled the pack onto his back, and took a deep breath.  Then he unlocked the door.

Justin could still hear his parents screaming at each other.  About him.  He walked carefully down the stairs, hoping to avoid their attention.

Craig spotted him immediately, and pushed past Jen to the stairs.  Justin forced himself to keep walking.  _I'm not a scared little faggot_ , he thought, trying to make it true.  But his heart hammered against his ribcage, calling his bluff.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Craig barked.  

"Out," Justin said shortly.

"No.  You aren't going anywhere," Craig said.  "Go to bed.  We'll finish this tomorrow."

"The hell we will," Justin said.  "I'm leaving.  Let me past."  He walked down to the last step, where Craig was blocking his way.

"You little shit, thinking you can hit me?  You think you're a man?  You're not leaving, if I have to kick your ass to stop you."

"You'll have to," Justin replied.  Adrenaline shot into his system again as they stared each other down.  "And I'd say I'm more of a man than you are."

"Craig, don't you dare!" Jennifer cried, seeing the mutinous expression on her husband's face.  "Don't you touch him!"

Craig  let out a growl of rage and shoved Justin hard.  Justin reeled backwards and fell to his ass on the stairs.  And then, Craig was beating him.  Furiously.  Passionately.

At first, Justin tried to fight back.  It only intensified his father's wrath, and pain and fear coursed through Justin's body.  He covered his face and head, and curled into a ball, trying to protect his stomach.  He could vaguely hear his father's curses and his mother's screams, but he was mostly concentrating on breathing.  On living through it.

And then, suddenly, it stopped.  Justin heard a door slam, and soon after, the sound of tires squealing.  He was gone.

"Justin!" his mother cried.  She was there, trying to touch him, trying to help.

"Stop," he said.  "STOP!"  He swatted her hand away.  "Don't touch me."  His voice was cold and hard.

She pulled away, face streaked with tears.  "Honey, I—"

"Stop," he said again.  "I'm leaving."  He slowly got to his feet, feeling every nerve in his body screaming.  He'd never been in pain like this before.

"Honey, please!" Jennifer cried.  Tears rolled down her face.  She watched her son helplessly, just as she had all night.  He walked towards the front door, pain making him awkward.

"Bye Mom," he said softly, and then he walked out into the night.


	2. Life Keeps Going

 

Justin walked slowly through the cold night. He wished he'd thought to grab his jacket; the sweater didn't really keep the wind out at all. 

Daphne's house wasn't too far. He wondered what time it was; he couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at a clock. Oh well. Daphne was his best friend for a reason. She'd take care of him.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. It seemed like something that couldn't possibly happen to Justin Taylor. Justin Taylor had two parents who loved him, unconditionally. Justin Taylor had a little sister who was a pain, but innocent and sweet. Justin Taylor did not get beaten by his father for being a fag, did not make his mother cry, did not cause his sister trauma. Justin Taylor was a Good Kid.

And now, it wasn't true. Maybe Justin wasn't Justin Taylor anymore. Maybe he was someone else.

He felt cold on his face, and he realized he was crying. The wind against the tears made him shiver. He swiped at them furiously, angry at his life. This couldn't be happening.

He walked up to Daphne's front door and knocked lightly. He could hear footsteps behind the door and then it opened.

Daphne's mother stood there. "Justin? Are you alright?" She looked at him with unshielded concern in her eyes. "What happened."

"I'm okay," he said. "Can I talk to Daphne, please?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Sure. Come on in. You know where her room is." Mrs. Chanders ushered him inside, and he slowly made his way up the stairs. His body was aching.

"Daph?" he called.

"Justin? What are you doing here?" Daphne walked out of her room and into the hallway. Her eyes widened. "Oh my God. What happened to you?" 

Justin plodded towards her. "I…uh…"

"Come into my room," she urged, and he followed her into her eclectic abyss. He perched on the edge of the bed. Daphne shut and locked her door.

"All right, Justin. Tell me what's going on." She looked at her blond friend with fear. "Your face—"

"Daph, you can't tell anyone. Promise me." He saw her hesitate, and he repeated. "Promise me, Daph!"

"All right, I promise," she said. "What happened?" She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against her dresser.

Suddenly, Justin realized he didn't know where to start. "Uh…"

"Just tell me. You're scaring me." Daphne did look nervous.

"My dad. He found out that…I'm gay." He looked at Daphne, waiting for her response.

"I already knew that," she said. "But that doesn't explain your face, Justin."

"Sure it does. Dad freaked out. He…slapped me a couple of times, and then I goaded him, and he tried to punch me. But I ducked, and I hit him, and went to my room and got my stuff." He gestured at his backpack sitting on Daphne's purple carpet. "But when I tried to leave again, he…he beat me up." Justin's voice trailed to a whisper. He touched his face gingerly, and flinched when his fingertips connected with a bruise.

"Oh God, Justin," Daphne said. "You've got to tell someone! He can't just do that to you!" She moved closer to Justin. "Let me see your face."

"I can't tell someone, Daph. Who? What would I say? I mean…" Justin just wanted to cry. He sniffed hard and dropped his face. "Hell, they'd probably figure I deserved it. You know, being a fag and all."

"Don't call yourself that!" Daphne said. She looked worried. "What am I supposed to tell my parents? They aren't stupid, you know. One look at you and they'll know something's up."

"I don't know. I'll figure out more permanent living arrangements later," Justin said. "But right now, I just want to go to sleep."

She looked at him and nodded. "You can stay here. Do you have pajamas?"

Justin snorted. "I didn't really think about it," he said.

"Well, you could wear mine…" she said, holding up a pair of pink flannel pants.

"I'm gay, not a cross dresser!" Justin said. "And even if I was, you're a lot skinnier than I am."

"Fine. I'll ask my dad." She walked out of her room, leaving Justin there to think.

_How did my life get so fucked up, so fast? If only I'd hidden my sketchpad…I never thought he'd actually look at it! I mean, Dad doesn't like art. Fuck. Why'd I write his name on it, anyway? He's just a guy, and we barely even kissed. I'm an idiot, obviously. Stupid Kevin. And now_ he's _got a fucking girlfriend…shit._

Daphne came back, with a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. "Here," she said, handing them to him. 

"Thanks, Daph. For…everything."

"You're welcome," she said. She shut the door, and said, "I'll look away."

"Um, Daph? Remember when we had sex? I'm pretty sure you know what I look like." Justin managed a small chuckle, and it surprised him.

"Yeah, okay. But that was awhile ago." She smiled at him.

Justin kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his jeans. Slowly, stiffly, he managed to work them low enough to step out of them. He could feel Daphne watching him, and he felt a little self conscious. He pulled on the pajama pants and tightened the drawstring around his slender waist.

He carefully pulled at the hoodie, and then stopped. "Jesus Christ, that hurts," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"You want some help?" Daphne asked, walking over to him. He nodded.

"Okay. Raise your hands over your head…" she said, like she was talking to a five year old. "Just kidding. Too much babysitting."

"Ha ha. Help me out." Justin was not (that) amused.

"Sit down. You're too tall for this to work otherwise." He sat on the edge of her bed and she pulled up the back of the hoodie. Suddenly, she gasped.

"Oh my God, Justin. Your back." She sounded sad and scared and unbelieving, all at the same time.

"Does it look as bad as it feels?" he asked, trying to stay glib.

"God, I hope it doesn't feel that bad," she said with feeling. She carefully worked his arms from the sleeves, and then pulled it over his head, taking the tee shirt with it.

Justin stood and looked in the mirror. It did look bad. His back was bruising; large round bruises where Craig's fists had fallen. He could also see bruises on his arms and shoulders, from all the grabbing and shoving.

"Here's your shirt back," Daphne said, handing him his tee. He slipped it over his head and looked at her.

"Where am I going to sleep?" he asked. "I mean, we haven't had a sleepover since we were wee tots." He smiled slightly.

"I get the left side," she said, gesturing at her double bed. "And don't hog the covers."

"Won't your parents freak?" Justin asked, looking at the door. "I don't want your dad to come after me with a shotgun or something."

"The door's locked," she said, "and Dad's not the shotgun-toting type. Lay down."

He crawled under the covers on the left side and Daphne flipped off the lights. A few moments later, he felt the bed dip with her slight weight.

He turned onto his side and shut his eyes. "Thanks Daph," he said softly.

"You're welcome. I'm sure you'll pay me back later." He heard her sigh lightly, and settle deeper under her blanket.

He lay there in silence, thinking about the events of this night. This couldn't really be happening. He'd wake up soon, in his own bed, berating himself for this weird, vaguely heterosexual dream about his best friend, and go downstairs, where Mom and Dad and Molly would be eating breakfast. Like the Cleavers. But he could feel the bruises all over his back and arms, the sting of his lip and cheek. This was real. He was fucked.

He felt tears building up behind his eyes, and tried to stifle them. But they refused to be held back. He felt it slipping down his cheek, and he refused to sniff, not wanting Daphne to hear him crying. Like a scared little faggot.

Daphne could feel him shaking, but she knew he didn't want her to notice. So she pretended she didn't, breathing evenly in an attempt to feign sleep.

*****

Brian got out of the car, patting the money in his pocket to reassure himself that it was there. Emmett was back under the lamppost, looking tired and cold.

"The sun's coming up," Brian said, taking a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. "You ready to go back?"

"Yeah, might as well," Emmett replied. "How'd you do?"

"Pretty good," Brian mumbled around the cigarette he was trying to light. "Gotta go buy some food and condoms. You coming?"

"I've got to restock too," Emmett said. The two walked together, block after block in the cold. Finally, they came to a small store. Marcus Dried Goods.

They walked inside, a small bell on the door jingling as they entered. An older man stood behind the counter, reorganizing magazines. He looked up when they entered, made a small noise in his throat, and went back to his task.

The boys walked purposefully. They never bought too much at one time; it was too easy for someone else to see them as an easy mark if they had lots of stuff. They each grabbed a couple of ready-made sandwiches and Emmett grabbed a banana.

"Are you gonna eat it or fuck it?" Brian asked, looking at the giant banana. "I really want to know."

"I've got enough things to fuck without a banana," Emmett replied, continuing on to the Health and Beauty aisle.

"Well, without a banana, you won't be fucking much of anything," Brian muttered.

"Oh, ha ha. Here." Emmett tossed a package of condoms at him.

"$6.50? Damn, these are expensive!" Brian said, but he took the pack. Emmett grabbed one for himself too, and then grabbed a box of single sized lubricant packages. 

"All we need," Emmett said, and the pair made their way to the counter.

The man behind the counter rang them up in silence. They came in almost every other morning to stock up on supplies; he was used to them by now. But that didn't mean he had to like having hustlers in his store.

Brian dug cash out of his pocket; a twenty. "There goes half a blowjob, down the toilet," he said in an undertone to Emmett. Emmett elbowed him hard, and smiled apologetically at the owner, who ignored them.

They grabbed their bags full of stuff and left the store. Brian immediately pulled the condoms out of the package and stuffed them in one jacket pocket. He and Emmett split up the mini-lubes, and Brian added those to his pocket stash. 

"I'm freezing my tail off! If my aunt Lula could see me now—" Emmett cut himself short.

"Well, she can't. And it's a good thing, 'cause if she wasn't already dead, you'd kill her. Especially in those heels." Brian's stomach growled noisily.

"I don't know. Aunt Lula was always pretty accepting of me. She's the one who dyed my white pants purple so Mama wouldn't whip me for spilling boysenberries on them. That's pretty queer, don't you think? Purple pants?" Emmett looked over at Brian.

"Yeah, that's queer all right. But even I'm not that gay," Brian said.

"Excuse me? Don't you tell me that! You're just not that fashionable." Emmett sniffed.

"Fashionable. Right." Brian lit another cigarette. 

The boys walked down an alleyway, to the abandoned apartment building where they were living at the moment. Brian reached up and grabbed the bottom rung of the fire escape. His weight dropped it down into easy reach, and the boys climbed up to the second floor, and into a broken window.

Emmett dusted himself off. Brian shook his head. "I don't know how you can do that in three inch heels."

"Same way you get to Carnegie Hall. Or give a really good blowjob. Practice, practice, practice!"

They walked into the hallway of the building, which was littered with broken glass, cigarette butts, and used condoms. Brian led the way to a room near the hallway's end.

The room had been cleared of broken glass and other debris, and there were a few tattered sleeping bags and worn blankets scattered around, along with some other random items—a few paperback books without covers, a crate that doubled as a table of sorts, some candles, and some Salvation Army backpacks. And more kids. 

He nodded at Ted, who was hunched over a textbook. He was studying; a student at a local college, but he'd gotten evicted from his apartment over a moth ago. His scholarship paid for his classes, but not a roof over his head. So he lived here. His mother lived across the country, and had no idea.

Brian walked over to the corner, where Lindsay was sitting. She looked very tired. Her red lipstick was smeared a little, and her mascara had run. "Hey beautiful," Brian said, with a small smile. She looked up at him.

"How was your night?" she asked.

"The usual. Not too bad." Brian lowered himself to the floor next to her. "You?"

"Cops are patrolling my usual spot pretty heavy. Only made $50 bucks, standing out there all night, shivering." She rubbed her bare thigh where it stuck out from her miniskirt.

Brian could see Blake rocking back and forth in the other corner, very obviously high on meth. He was exploding with energy in this tiny, dirty space. Michael laid less than six feet away, fast asleep. 

Mikey. He didn't hustle; he had a battered guitar that he played in the subway. It didn't make much money, but Brian was always helping him. Michael felt guilty for using money Brian got selling his body, but he didn't want to do it himself, and he didn't want to starve either. And Brian offered.

Brian heard footsteps in the hall, and tensed until Ben stepped over the threshold. "Brian," Ben said, with a nod in his direction. Brian nodded back. Ben hadn't been near Emmett, like he usually was, when Brian got out of the car; he must have been with a john. The three of them usually walked back together. Brian watched as the broad shouldered teenager walked over to where Mikey was sleeping and curled around him, his arm slung protectively across Mikey's chest.

Brian lay down under his unzipped sleeping bag. After a moment, Lindsay joined him, curling her body against his. "I'm freezing," she said. 

"You just want to get close to my hot bod," Brian said, only half joking. 

Lindsay shoved him slightly. "You wish!" she said. "You're not really my type."

"Yeah, well, you're not mine either," Brian replied, and then pulled her closer. "Night, Linds." He shut his eyes, ready to sleep away the day until it was time to go out and work the streets again.

"Night, Bri," she said, and shut her eyes. And the two drifted off into a fitful, uneasy sleep, filled with dreams they didn't care to remember.


	3. Closer

Justin had been staying at Daphne's for two days when disaster struck. He was eating dinner with the rest of the Chanders' family when there was a knock at the door.

Mr. Chanders got up and answered the door. Justin could hear him speaking, but not his words, and then he heard his father's voice. "Is Justin here?"

"Yes, he is," Mr. Chanders said. "We're eating dinner right now."

"He's coming home right now." Craig's voice was harsh. "Tell him to get his stuff and come with me."

Justin jumped up and dashed up the stairs into Daphne's room. A few moments later, Daphne burst in after him.

He was frantically stuffing his clothes and sketchbook into his backpack, breathing hard.

"Justin, what are you doing?" Daphne asked.

"I'm not going home with my dad," Justin said, forcing the zipper shut. "And if I'm here, he'll grab me and drag me. I'm not going to let him beat me again!" Justin's hand darted reflexively to the deep purple bruise that marred the pale skin of his face. "You've got to help me." He swung the pack onto his back, wincing as it settled against the tender bruises that had hardly begun to heal. 

"How?" Daphne asked. "What are you going to do? Where are you going?"

"I don't know," Justin said. "Away. Somewhere bigger than Pittsburgh." He grabbed Daphne and they hugged for a long moment. 

"Be careful Justin," she said.

"Always," he replied. 

"I think you can climb out the window still," Daphne said. "I know we haven't done it in awhile…"

"Hopefully the trellis won't break under my weight," Justin said. "I weigh a bit more than I did when I was twelve!"

He opened her window with ease and climbed out onto the roof. "Bye Daph. Thanks."

She nodded and watched as Justin climbed down to the ground and took off through her backyard. She looked at his retreating figure until it rounded the corner and was out of her sight. "Oh, God…please protect him," Daphne whispered.

"Justin!" Craig's voice floated up the stairs. Daphne ran out of her room and down the hall into the bathroom. _Get away from the scene of the crime_. "Justin, come down here!" He sounded really angry, and Daphne was afraid for Justin. She hoped he'd get far enough away that his father couldn't find him.

"Daphne, tell Justin to come down here." Her father's voice floated up the stairs.

Shit. Well, she'd just have to lie. Convincingly. She stayed quiet, thinking. Finally, she walked into the hallway and called down the stairs. "He's in the bathroom," she said. "He said he was going to be sick." Only after she said it did she realize how bad that sounded, but it was too late to take it back.

She stood there for almost ten minutes before Craig spoke again. "Tell him to get his butt down here!" he said. "I don't have all night to stand around here while he acts like a drama queen."

Daphne didn't respond. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Craig was standing there. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked. Daphne gestured silently at the door. Craig strode up to it and knocked hard. "Justin, get out of there. Stop hiding!"

There was no response, of course. Daphne's heart was in her throat. What would Craig do next?

"Justin? Justin, answer me!" Craig beat on the door again. Daphne stared at his fists, imagining them thudding into Justin's back. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Craig grabbed the door handle and opened it. He walked inside; she heard the swish of the shower curtain. Then he swore. "Where is he?" he asked.

"He's not there?" Daphne asked, doing her best to sound surprised.

"Is he in your room?" Craig asked. "Hiding like a sissy?"

"He's not in there," Daphne said. "I thought he was in the bathroom." 

"Where's your room?" Craig asked. Daphne gestured towards it. "There's a license plate with my name on the door," she said.

Craig charged in there like he owned it. Belatedly, Daphne remembered the open window and hoped Craig wouldn't notice it, or at least wouldn't find it odd.

"Justin!" Craig yelled. Daphne heard her closet door slam against her wall. She ran down there. "He's not in there!" she cried. "I thought he was in the bathroom!"

Craig swore roughly and whirled towards her. Daphne shrunk away, feeling terror rise inside her. This man had beaten her best friend, and he was crazy. She could see it in his eyes. 

He pushed past her, leaving her shaking. Whatever Justin's plans were, they had to be better than what would happen to him here. She bowed her head, feeling tears fill her eyes. The door downstairs slammed shut, and the house was silent..

*****

Justin ran down the sidewalks, heading for the Greyhound Bus Station. New York. Kids ran away to New York all the time, didn't they? He could get a job of some kind; waiting tables maybe, or something like that. Maybe he could live at the YMCA. He'd be okay.

The backpack flopped around on his back, slapping the bruises painfully. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it. There! He saw the familiar Greyhound sign.

He'd never taken a bus before, but he figured it couldn't be that hard. He ran up to a ticket counter. "Can I get a ticket to New York? The next available one, please." He was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. 

"Round-trip?" asked the man behind the counter. 

"One way," Justin replied.

The man looked at him suspiciously. Justin turned his head, trying to hide the bruise that marred his face. "That will be $50," the man said finally. Justin dug the cash out of his wallet and gave it to the man. A few moments later, he had his ticket.

"Thank you," Justin said, studying the ticket.

"It leaves in about half an hour," the man said. "You can take a seat over there if you'd like." He gestured at a row of hard plastic chairs.

"Thanks," Justin repeated. "Where's your bathroom?"

The man pointed at a sign. "Right over there," he replied. Justin nodded, and started for the bathroom. He didn't know if his father would think to check the bus station, but he didn't want to be sitting there, in plain sight.

In the bathroom, he was alone. He stood in front of the dirty mirror and gazed at his reflection. His eyes were tired, and the bruise on his cheek was livid. He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Well, in half an hour, he'd be out of this city, and headed for a new life in New York. And everything would be okay.

*****

Brian woke up when Lindsay pushed away from him. "Doing your makeup?" he asked, sitting up and adjusting his leather jacket around his shoulders.

Lindsay smiled tiredly and wiped smeared eyeliner and lipstick off of her face with an old bandana. "Gotta look beautiful," she said, holding her compact mirror in one hand and expertly applying blood-red lipstick with the other. She rubbed her lips together.

"You're always beautiful," Brian said. Lindsay shook her head before picking up her eyeliner. "If I wasn't queer, I'd marry you in an instant."

Lindsay smiled. This one was real, and went all the way to her eyes. "You and I could have a beautiful house, and a baby together….we'd be a regular happy family." Her voice was slightly dreamy as her dreams spilled from her mouth.

"Those don't really exist," Brian said, and the slightest edge of bitterness crept into his voice. "Plus. Me, with a kid? The universe wouldn't be so cruel. Poor kid."

Lindsay huffed, capping her eyeliner. "We couldn't possibly do any worse than our parents did; hell, we'd do a lot better, I think." She held the mirror farther away, checking out the overall look.

"Yeah. A hustler and a hooker…our baby would be sooo well-adjusted." Brian laughed, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

"We won't be like this forever, Brian," Lindsay said softly, her voice wistful. "We'll be normal one day."

"I'll never be normal," Brian contradicted. "I'm not the type to settle down, to fall in love and have a kid and live happily ever after."

Lindsay just shrugged and finished putting on her mascara. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll surprise yourself."


	4. Bad Night

Justin stood in the station, waiting for the bus. He checked his watch again; the fourth time in ten minutes. Where the hell was it?

Finally it pulled to a stop. A second glance at his ticket told him that this was his bus, and he hefted his knapsack back onto his shoulder and joined two other people getting onto the bus. They seated themselves together near the front, but Justin walked to the back, not in the mood to socialize.

He sat in the very last seat next to the window and stared out there, still watching obsessively for his father's car. He saw another man walk across the lot and enter the bus. A few moments later, he felt someone sit next to him—that guy. He bit back a frustrated sigh, not wanting to seem rude. All he wanted to do was be alone, and this weirdo had to sit next to him when there was a whole empty bus. 

"Hi. I'm Wayne." The man put his hand out where Justin couldn't avoid seeing it. 

"Hi," Justin said, giving the briefest handshake possible before staring out the window again, attempting to send out _I'm not interested_ vibes. Either it didn't work or the man ignored him. 

"Where are you going?" Justin shrugged uncomfortably. Why did this man care? He wanted to get up and move, but his country club manners wouldn't let him, so instead he stayed still.  
  
"You don't know?" To Justin, it seemed as though the man was laughing at him. He shrugged again with a light sigh.

  
“Well, that’s alright,” Wayne said finally.

  
“Thanks for your permission,” Justin muttered sarcastically under his breath. He hoped that would anger the man enough to leave him alone, but instead he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re funny, kid. What’s your name?”

  
Justin shrugged again. Wayne studied him with shrewd eyes. “C’mon, everyone’s got a name, don't they?”

  
“Yeah, I suppose,” Justin replied shortly. The bus started to roll out of the station, and he felt himself relax. Whatever. What did it matter, really, if this guy knew his name? “I’m Justin."

He turned to look at the man, and saw the man's eyes widen. "What happened to your face?" he asked. 

"Nothing," Justin replied, turning back to the window and cursing himself mentally for forgetting about it, even for a moment. 

"Someone hit you pretty good," the man said. Justin's body stiffened at his words, and he ignored him again, praying desperately that Wayne would just leave him alone. 

There was tense silence for a minute or two before Wayne spoke again. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." His voice dropped again. "You running away 'cause of that?" 

"I'm not running away," Justin lied. "And it's none of your fucking business." His voice was harsher than he'd intended. 

"Sorry," the guy said again. "Really, I don't mean anything by it." He turned his head away and was silent. 

Justin leaned against the window. The cool glass felt good against his bruised cheek. He looked out into the darkness, imagining the country rolling by. He wondered if his father was still looking for him, wondered what his mother was doing, wondered if Molly was okay after everything that had happened. 

The adrenaline rush from his escape and the run was wearing off, leaving bone weariness in its place. Justin closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he'd been out when he woke up; it was still dark outside the bus. Then he realized what had woken him: something was touching his thigh. It was a hand. Justin froze. A blanket covered their laps, shielding whatever this man was doing from the rest of the bus.

  
“You’re a nice kid,” Wayne said. “I’d like to talk to you some more.” Justin felt his hand wander higher, squeezing his thigh.

  
“Stop it!” he said, his voice strangled. No one had ever touched him before—he was a virgin in every important sense of the word; Daphne didn't count. And this was not the way he wanted to start his sex life!

  
“Stop what?” Wayne asked innocently, caressing his inner thigh mere inches from his dick. Justin was terrified, and the contact made him feel nauseous. This man was at least 40, maybe older. He didn't want him touching him!

  
“Stop.” He couldn’t articulate; he could barely think. “Just leave me alone, please.” Justin's voice was barely more than a panicked whisper; he couldn't seem to move. His body was paralyzed with horror.

  
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “It would be kind of scary to just leave you alone on this bus, wouldn’t it?”

  
Justin's breath caught in his throat. “Please, stop it!” His hands were clenched in fists, but he still couldn't move.

  
“Aren’t you going to need money? I mean, you won’t make it very far without any.” The man's hand kept stroking his thigh as he spoke.

  
“I have some,” Justin whispered.

  
"Not enough. Come on, boy, don’t be so shy. I can help you make money. A pretty little chicken like you, it'll be a piece of cake.” His hand closed around Justin's dick then, shocking Justin free of his terror-stricken stillness. 

Justin jumped to his feet, tangling himself in the blanket as he tried to push past Wayne. Wayne grabbed his arm right over the old bruises, and Justin yelped but yanked away and dashed down the aisle. The other people on the bus were all staring. He plunked into a seat near the front, breathing heavily. A grandmotherly woman sitting across the aisle looked at him with concern.   
  
"You okay, honey?" she asked. Justin nodded and looked over his shoulder. Wayne was still sitting there, looking at him, but he hadn't moved. He let himself breathe a tentative sigh of relief. Surely he wouldn't come up here and try to touch him again, not in front of all the people sitting up here. The bus had filled up since he'd fallen asleep. 

He sat back carefully so he wouldn't jostle his bruised back any more. He suddenly realized he didn't have his backpack; he'd left it back there with the slime bag. Fuck. Well, he decided, he could do it. Go back and get it, and if that guy even tried to touch him, he'd kick him in the balls. Hard. Or something like that. 

He took a deep breath and stood up, turning and walking up the aisle of the bus. Wayne's eyes were laughing at him."You change your mind, little chicken?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. Justin ignored him, his heart pounding furiously. His backpack was on the floor on Wayne's other side. He bent forward to grab it. 

Wayne's hand smacked his ass. Justin jumped, but he'd grabbed his bag and he straightened up, clutching it to his chest. "Don't fucking touch me," Justin said. His voice was cold as steel, and only trembled slightly. 

"Come on, baby," the man whispered. "The money's good…especially for a pretty little thing like you." He reached for Justin again. Justin pulled away and only stopped himself for running for his seat through sheer willpower, and a refusal to look as weak and frightened as he felt. What was he getting himself into? 

He sat down and caught his reflection in the window. It was nearly as reflective as a mirror, and the bruise on his cheek was vivid. He couldn't believe that this was really happening. Each moment had such surrealness to it, as though he could wake up any moment, or press pause on the movie, or something. He'd just gotten groped by some strange guy on this bus, who was, if Justin was correct, trying to get him to be a prostitute. His face and body were battered, and he was heading off to New York. It was like an After-School Special, or something. 

Except real. He could still feel the impression of that man's hand on his leg. Justin rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs, trying to make that awful, crawly feeling disappear. It abated slowly, and he cradled his backpack in his arms and stared out the window. It couldn't be that much longer until he got there… 

And then what? Justin sighed as he realized exactly how much he didn't know. Yes, he'd been to New York before, as a tourist. He'd seen a few shows on Broadway, and had walked around Manhattan with his parents and sister. But he knew nothing of the real city; the one the tourists didn't notice. The one where kids like him lived when they ran away from home. Where would he go? The guy was right; he didn't have a lot of money. Less than $150 left after his bus ticket. That wouldn't get him very far; he remembered that New York was really expensive. His stomach growled, as if to remind him that feeding himself was an costly proposition. Not to mention everything else. Well, there was no point in borrowing trouble. He'd be okay. He leaned against the window and shut his eyes again. 

***** 

"Shit, Brian, you scared me!" Ben cried. Brian had snuck up behind him, somehow. He noticed that Brian was breathing heavily. 

"Are you okay?" Ben asked, concerned. 

"Yeah, I'm alright," Brian said. _Barely_. "That last john wanted to go bareback." 

"You didn't let him, did you?" Ben asked, ready to go into lecture mode. 

"I'm not an idiot," Brian said. "But he didn't want to take no. I just barely got away." 

Ben could see that Brian was shaken; even to a hustler, attempted rape was a frightening experience. "What happened?" he asked. 

Brian shook his head. "Let's just say…he's gonna have very sore balls for awhile," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

Emmett came up to them. "Hey boys," he said. "Hey Em," Brian said. Ben just nodded. "You don't look so good, honey," Emmett said, studying Brian. "Are you okay?"  
  
Brian chuckled humorlessly. "I'm great. I even got the money." 

"Of course you did; you're the one who taught me to collect upfront," Emmett said. "But…why wouldn't you have?" 

"He didn't want to go bareback," Ben said. "The guy—"  
  
"Didn't care, but it doesn't matter, so can we please shut the hell up?" Brian said. He was shaken by it, but didn't want it to show. 

"He didn't…" Emmett started, looking horrified. 

"No, he didn't. Now shut the fuck up." Brian took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. 

"Those things will kill you," Ben said. 

"Like so many things in life," Brian replied, taking a drag. "But don't tempt me." 

The boys all sighed, and waited for the next car to drive down their street. The night was young, after all, and there was a lot of work to be had.


	5. Getting Worse

 

Justin fought sleep, afraid of what might happen.  The idea of Wayne—or anyone else—touching him again made him feel nauseated.  He could practically hear his father's voice. 

_"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?  For men to touch you, to fuck you?  You wanted it; you're just a faggot, and that's what they all want.  So don't go pretending you didn't like it, or that you didn't ask for it."_

He couldn't believe the brutality of the father he'd conjured up.  The worst part was knowing that part of that was his own accusations, and his own fears.  After all, Craig wasn't in his head to say those awful things.  It was all him. 

Except, that wasn't what he wanted.  He wanted what every teenager wanted-to get laid.  Oh, yeah, and to fall in love, and live happily ever after, all that stuff.  All good things.  All things that would be perfectly acceptable to his father…if he'd wanted to fall in love with a girl, get laid with a girl, live happily ever after with a girl.  But he didn't.

The ride was long.  He hadn't realized how far New York was from Pittsburgh.  The hours stretched.  He doodled on his sketchpad, but couldn't seem to concentrate for very long, and there wasn't much to draw that was actually interesting.  He finally tucked the sketchpad back into his bag and stared out the window again. 

He must have fallen asleep despite himself; he woke to the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.  He flinched harshly, his mind flashing back to the last time he'd woken to someone touching him. 

"I didn't mean to scare you," the grandmotherly lady said, releasing him.  "But this is the last stop in New York; this is where you're getting off, isn't it?" 

Justin smiled at her.  "Thank you, ma'am," he said politely.  She smiled back at him and got off the bus. Justin stood and swung his bag onto his shoulder before descending the stairs.  The bus pulled away with a loud, grumbly burping noise.  

The Greyhound station was packed, and he looked around with wide eyes, confused and more than a little afraid.  What was he going to do now? He stared at all the people.  Black, white, brown, thin, fat, ugly, beautiful…he'd never seen so many different people in his life.  Well, surely he could blend in easily enough here.   

"Watch where you're going!" someone cried harshly.  He grunted and nearly fell; he'd slammed into an enormous guy wrestling with an equally enormous suitcase. 

"Sorry," he said timidly, and kept walked, holding onto his backpack straps more tightly, afraid it would be wrenched away from him in this awful throng.  He moved towards the side of the station, looking for a map to tell him where he was. 

"Hey, there Chicken.  Long time no see."  Justin whirled around at that familiar voice.  Wayne!  The man was standing behind him smirking again. 

"Leave me alone!" Justin cried.  "I don't want anything to do with you!"  His voice cracked, and he blushed a violent shade of red. 

"How old are you, anyway?" asked the man.  He stepped closer to Justin, who backed away, his heart pounding.  "Are you even a teenager, yet?"  

Justin's back hit the wall, and he gasped in pain as cement made contact with bruises.  His grip on his backpack loosened, and it dropped to the ground. 

"I'm sixteen," Justin said angrily, dropping to a crouch painfully and grabbing his bag.  Even as frightened as he was, he could be insulted that someone would mistake him for so much younger than his actual age.  The man moved even closer, trapping Justin in his crouch, his face mere inches from the man's crotch.  He turned his head to the side, disgusted. 

"Let me up!" Justin said, shoving at the man's thigh.  He backed up, off balance, and Justin shot to his feet, ignoring the stab of pain it caused. 

Wayne was quick though.  He grabbed Justin's shoulder and dug his fingers into the muscle there, making Justin wince and gasp in pain.  It hurt so much he couldn't even speak; he felt tears come to his eyes. 

"Listen to me, you little shit.  I'm not about to let a hot piece of ass like you slip from my fingers…you'll be worth a ton of money.  So how about you be a good little boy and do what I tell you, so I won't have to hurt you?"  The man's voice was deceptively calm considering the cruelty of his words. 

The tears started rolling down his face then; even the beating his father had given him hadn't seemed this painful or frightening.  "Fine," Justin gasped.  The pain eased as the man loosened his grip.  What was he going to do?  There was no way in hell he'd go with this man.  He'd die first! 

Wayne grabbed his arm with a grip like a vice.  His fingers pressed into the bruises, and it hurt like hell.  Justin whimpered as the man started walking, leading him along. 

They were walking away from the station.  Justin felt terror rise in his throat.  He couldn't leave that crowd—they were his only safety.  He struggled to get away, to no avail.  Wayne started jogging, dragging the blond down the street. 

No.  NO!  "NO!"  Justin screamed.  "Let go of me!  LET GO!"  He began screaming wordlessly, pure fear exploding from his mouth in high pitched wails.  The man whirled and hit him hard.  Justin felt his lip tear as the tender flesh caught his tooth.  Blood cascaded down his chin.  He kept screaming anyway.  He had nothing to lose. The next punch caught him with enough force to send him to the cement.  He felt a sharp snap of agony as his head hit the curb, and then everything went black.                                                             

**********

 The boys heard screams.  "NO!  Let go of me!  LET GO!" They all looked at each other.  It was the next block over, a young male voice.  One of their own? 

Ben and Brian made a decision and started running without saying a word.  Emmett tore after them, his high heels not impeding him in the least.  The other boys watched them, eyes wary.   

The screams got louder; no words, just screaming.  They rounded the corner just in time to see a man punch a boy in the face.  The kid flew backwards, and his head hit the concrete hard.  The screaming stopped abruptly. 

The man swore and rubbed his fist.  Emmett, Ben, and Brian all ran towards him, stopping when they were within five feet.  They stared, three sets of angry eyes against one. 

The man dropped eye contact first.  He knelt over the blond and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist in an attempt to pick him up. 

"Leave him alone."  Ben's voice was frightening in the dark; he was a big, imposing guy anyway, and his voice was cold as ice. 

"Fuck off," the man said.  Suddenly, he felt something cold at the back of his neck, and he froze. 

Brian let the tip of the switchblade touch the man's skin.  "Let go of him.  Get up, and leave him alone."  He pressed it slightly, and the man winced as the razor sharp tip cut into his flesh. "Alright," the man said.  Brian could hear him breathing.  "I'll leave him alone.  Just let me up." 

Brian pulled the blade away fractionally, just enough to allow the man to stand.  His glare was furious.  The man backed away.   "Go!" Brian yelled, raising the knife as if to throw it.  The man's eyes widened, and he turned and ran.  Brian didn't close the knife until the sound of his shoes against pavement were no longer audible. 

Emmett was already kneeling over the kid.  "Shit.  He really hit his head good."  

Brian looked down, and caught his breath.  He could see a slightly older bruise on the kid's cheek, and there was blood everywhere from his split lip.  Brian knew another bruise would be rising soon enough, from that punch.  But even under all that, this kid was gorgeous.   

"Watch the blood," Ben said.  "You don't want to touch that.  You don't know if he's got something."  Ben was the reason that Emmett and Brian were so insistent on using condoms; his biggest fear was getting hepatitis or HIV or something.  He'd lost a friend to hepatitis before he'd started hanging out with Brian's little crew, and it made him slightly paranoid. 

"Well, we can't just leave him here and go get rubber fucking gloves!" Emmett protested. 

"I don't have any cuts on my hands, or anywhere else, right now," Brian said.  He looked at the blond.  God, he was really young too—Brian would guess him at around fourteen.  Maybe.  He looked at Ben.  

"You have anything to mop up the blood with?" 

Ben shook his head.  "This is my only shirt." 

Emmett sighed.  "Fine.  You can have my scarf.  But you owe me." 

"Why do I owe you?" Brian asked as Emmett removed his prized white scarf and pressed it into his hand.  Brian bent forward and wiped some of the blood off the kid's face.  He pressed the scarf to his bleeding lip. 

"That's a genuine fake Armani, I'll have you know," Emmett said.  Brian ran his hand over the kid's head.  He could feel a bump growing on the back of his head. 

"This isn't exactly the best place for first aid," Ben said, watching their surroundings.  They were deserted. 

"Well, what's your suggestion?" Brian asked, wiping up more blood.  He stood up, the blood-stained scarf dangling from his hand.  The boys all looked at each other for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, they heard a groan.   

"Kid?  Hey, kid…are you okay?"  Ben was on his knees now, next to the blond's prone form.  The kid moaned again.   

"Well, he's awake, and alive.  That's a good sign," Brian said.  "Unless he'd rather be dead." 

"No," the kid said.  He gagged suddenly, and turned his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood. 

"Eww!" Emmett said, stepping backwards daintily.   

"You think you can stand?" Brian asked him. 

"I don't know," he said.  His eyes opened.  _Holy fuck, his eyes are really blue._   Even in the pale light, Brian was stunned by the intensity of his eyes. 

"We'll help you," Ben said.  He slipped one arm under the boy and helped him sit up.  "Give me a hand, Brian!" 

Brian positioned himself on the blond's other side and did the same thing Ben was doing.   

"Okay, we're gonna lift you to your feet," Ben said.  "Give us all the help you can." Ben nodded at Brian, and they both got to their feet and lifted the kid with them.  He moaned again, but didn't say anything.  He was standing, but Ben and Brian had most of his weight. 

"He's too short for us to stick one arm over each of our shoulders," Ben said.  "His feet would barely touch the ground." 

"We'll have to carry him," Brian said.  They looked at each other, trying to figure out how. 

"Oh, for goodness sakes.  It isn't that hard," Emmett said.  "Come on, Ben.  You're made for a fireman's carry." 

Ben rolled his eyes.  "Are we going to take him back to the apartment?" he asked. 

Brian thought for a moment.  "Do we have a choice?" he asked finally.  "He's a fucking mess." 

Ben nodded and crouched down, pulling the boy over his shoulder in a classic fireman's carry.  He stood and shifted the kid's weight.  The blond whimpered again, but didn’t speak

Come on," Ben said.  They started to walk in the general direction of the apartment building. 

"I just thought of something," Emmett said quietly.  "How the fuck are we going to get him up the fire escape?"


	6. Claims

Justin was confused, and in pain.  He could hear three voices—it sounded like three guys around his age.  He would have been afraid, but it seemed like too much work. 

"…unless he'd rather be dead," he heard one of them say.   

"No…" he managed to say.  He didn't want these guys to kill him.  But it wasn't exactly fear.  

Suddenly, the taste in his mouth registered.  Blood.  His blood, and a lot of it.  He gagged and turned his head to spit it out. He heard someone squeal, and then the same voice asked if he could stand. 

"I don't know," he managed to whisper.  He peeled his eyes open. A guy was kneeling next to him, a big guy with lots of muscles.  His stomach tensed; was he going to hurt him?  

And there were two others.  He thought one of them was a girl, until he looked closer and realized that it was a boy dressed like a girl.  And then his eyes ran across the guy standing above them all. 

He was beautiful.  His face had incredible bone structure that Justin couldn't help but want to sketch, with gorgeous hazel eyes and dark brown hair falling into his face.  He blinked, wondering if maybe he was dead, and this guy was an angel.  A very hot angel. 

The bigger guy was speaking.  "…a hand, Brian!" he said. The beautiful guy knelt down and they got ready to lift him up.  Brian.  His name was Brian.  He let his eyes fall shut again. 

Suddenly, they were lifting him, and then he was standing.  Barely.  They were holding him up; leather against his cheek told him he was against someone's chest.  He could feel himself drifting, like he might lose consciousness again.  He could hear them speaking, but not their words.  It didn't seem to matter.  They were helping him. 

And then he was upside down.  His eyes opened, briefly.  He saw a blue-jean covered ass.  Someone was carrying him.  Okay.  Not like he had a choice…and they seemed to want to help him, anyway. 

His head was pounding where it had cracked against the ground, made worse by the fact he was dangling upside down, blood rushing to his head.  He felt something warm and liquid dribble towards his eyebrow.  Blood, he decided after a moment.  From his lip, probably.  He licked his lip, and his guess was confirmed.

It seemed like only a short time later, when they stopped.  He could hear them speaking, but it was difficult, as though listening through water. 

"…up the fire escape?" he heard one of them ask. 

"He's heavier than he looks," said the guy who was carrying him.  "I don't know if—"  
  
"Stop bitching about it," the third one said.  "Emmett, pull it down." 

Justin heard metal creaking, and the same voice said, "Let him stand." 

Justin felt movement, and then there was ground underneath his feet again.  He reeled, dizzy and confused.  Someone grabbed him and he winced. 

"Stay on your feet," the voice said.  "Lean against me." 

Justin did.  He didn't have much of a choice, really; the guy was holding onto him pretty tightly, and he wasn't strong enough to pull away.  He opened his eyes briefly.  It was the hot guy holding him.  Hell, he didn't want to pull away.  He let his eyes shut again. 

"You're gonna have to climb," he said.  "Hey. Kid, you hear me?" Justin nodded, and the guy started speaking.  

"Okay, here's the plan, guys.  Emmett, you go up first, and you can help pull him up.  I'll go right after him, and Ben, you're my backup.  If he falls…you're gonna have to catch us both.  Got it?"   

There was noise of movement, and then he was being shaken.  "All right," the hot guy said, giving him a push.  "Start climbing."  He led him over to the fire escape ladder. 

Justin looked at it, and took a deep breath and started climbing.                                                             

********** 

Emmett practically yanked the blond into the building.  The kid was shaking like a leaf.  

"You alright, honey?" he asked. The blond didn't answer.  He was white as a ghost.  Brian climbed through, followed by Ben.  

"Come on, Blondie," Brian said.  "We're almost there." He led the blond down the hallway and into their little shelter.  The only people there were Ted and Michael, and both of them were asleep.   

"There's room by me," Brian said.  Ben and Emmett watched as Brian settled the boy onto his pile of blankets in the corner, where he and Lindsay usually slept.  The kid was still unnaturally pale.  

"Is he still bleeding?" Ben asked quietly. Brian looked carefully at his face, and then shook his head.  

"He's practically asleep, though," he said.   Ben and Emmett stood there, unsure of what to do.  The night was almost over.  

"Are you going to go back out?" Emmett asked Ben under his breath. Ben considered it for a moment.  

"No.  I don't think so."  He gestured at Mikey.  "Might as well get some sleep.  By the time we got back to our block, it's gonna be time to go, almost." 

Emmett nodded; he saw the wisdom in this.  "Well, I'm gonna wash off my makeup and go get something to eat.  You want to come with me?"   

"I'll come, I guess," Ben said.  

But Brian shook his head. "I'm gonna stay with the kid.  Bring me back a couple of sandwiches."  He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out ten dollars.  "If there's change, I want it back," he said sternly.  Emmett smiled.  He'd already pulled off the heels and skirt, and was dressed in a perfectly ordinary, if faded and dirty, pair of blue jeans.  He tucked the money in his pocket.  "Always, sweetie," he said. 

Brian put his wallet away and sat down next to the blond, who was lying on his stomach, sleeping.  At least, Brian hoped he was sleeping, and not unconscious.  He was so pale, and Brian couldn't tell if that was just because his coloring was fair, or if it was something else.  He stroked the light hair off of the boy's forehead before he thought about it. 

The kid shifted slightly, turning his head to the side.  Okay, he was just sleeping.  Emmett had finished his change from quasi-female to male, and tied his hair back in a low ponytail.  All that was left was some stubborn eyeliner that wouldn't wipe off.  

"We're off," he said, and he and Ben walked off, leaving Brian and the blond more or less alone. Brian leaned against the wall and sighed.  His stomach was growling.  Belatedly, he wondered if he should have gotten something for the kid to eat.  He looked at the boy's body—not overly thin.  He was well fed, and pretty clean.  Brian wondered how long he'd been out on the street.  His clothing was still pretty clean, except from the dirt and scuffs he'd gotten when he'd hit the pavement.  Was this kid a newcomer to the streets?  If so, that was some bad luck to get the crap kicked out of you the first night.  But that bruise on his cheek was older…but that could be the reason he'd run off in the first place.  Family could sure give a hell of a wallop, if they wanted.  Brian had looked like hell when he'd ran off, after all. 

He realized he was playing with the boy's hair.  He pulled his hand away. 

"Don't stop," the kid whispered.  Shit.  He was awake? "You're awake?" Brian asked.

"Uh huh," the boy said.  Brian waited for more, but the kid didn't speak.   

"What's your name?" Brian asked finally. 

"Justin," he replied after a moment.  "What's yours?" 

"Brian," Brian replied. 

"That's a nice name," Justin said under his breath. 

"Are you sure you're awake?" Brian asked.   

"Uh huh."  Justin opened his eyes, and again, Brian was shocked by their blueness.  "See?" 

"Yeah," Brian said.  _God, he's beautiful._  

Brian slapped himself mentally.  This kid was like, fourteen.  That was almost as sick as the forty year old guys who bought him!  "How old are you?" Brian asked gruffly. 

"18," the boy replied after a moment. 

"Bullshit," Brian said.  "I'm not even eighteen.  Try again." 

Justin sighed.  "Fine.  I'm 16." 

"I said no bullshit." 

"It isn't," Justin said.  "I'm really 16.  I have a driver's license around here somewhere."  He patted his back pocket, and pulled out a wallet.  "Look." 

Brian took the wallet and opened it.  There was a driver's license, a beautiful, unmarred version of the blond in front of him smiling out from it.  Justin Taylor, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  Brian looked at the birth date and did some quick mental math.  "You are sixteen," he said, surprised. 

"Told you," Justin said, reaching for his wallet. Brian held it out of reach.  

"Don't give your wallet to people," he said.  "They might keep it." 

"You aren't just a people," Justin said.  "You saved me." 

Brian gave him his wallet back and sighed.  "Listen.  You look like you're about 14.  Maybe.  So don't do anything else stupid that marks you as an easy target.  Like hand someone your wallet.  Got it?"  He looked down at the blond, who had shut his eyes again. 

"Yeah, okay."  The blond sighed.  "I don't suppose you have any aspirin." 

"No.  I think Lindsay has some Tylenol, maybe."  He shifted away from Justin, searching for it.  But Justin's next words stopped him. 

"I can't have Tylenol," Justin said. "I'm allergic.  And who's Lindsay?" 

"That's impossible!  Who's allergic to Tylenol?  And Lindsay's my friend.  She usually sleeps right where you are."  He wondered how sleeping would work today. 

"I am.  It makes me sick." 

Brian heaved another sigh, and sat back again.  "Listen.  You've got a head wound, and your lip is swollen up like a sausage—" 

"That's not from today." 

"—so how about you just shut up and try to sleep?  And that blood is from today." 

The kid sighed, and burrowed deeper into the ragged pile of blankets.  "I'm cold," he whispered. 

Brian looked at his shaking frame.  "Do you mind if I lie next to you?  You're kind of in my bed. Or is that gonna freak you out?" 

"That's fine," Justin said, but he sounded a little nervous.  Brian slowly settled next to him, putting his arm over the boy.  The kid's body was kind of stiff, besides for his shuddering. 

"I'm not going to do anything to you, except sleep," Brian said quietly, reaching for a blanket.  "It's just so that the blanket will fit over us both.  It isn't very big."   

"That's not…I mean…I don't care," the kid said.  "But…my back hurts when anything touches it."  His voice was timid. 

Brian understood immediately, and moved his arm.  Of course that damage on his face wasn't all of it. 

The kid turned to face him, so he was lying on his side.  He drew his arms to his chest.  Brian lay next to him, close enough that they were breathing the same air.  He drew one of the least raggedy blankets over them both, and tried to figure out where he could put his arms. 

"I don't care if you touch me.  I mean—"  The blond blushed nearly purple.  "That didn't come out right.  But, if, I mean, when we're sleeping, it's okay—" 

He cut him off.  "I get it," Brian said.  He let his arm drop against his own hip and shut his eyes. They both were silent.

When Emmett and Ben returned, Ben noticed them first.  "They're sleeping," he whispered to Emmett, who looked at the plastic bag filled with sandwiches in his hand. 

Emmett nodded, and crept silently towards them and put the bag next to them, close enough that Brian would see it when he woke up.  Then he walked back to his little spot to eat his own breakfast. 

It was cute, he mused as he worked his way through his first sandwich.  They would make a good-looking couple.  Not that Brian was interested in coupling up, like everyone else seemed to be.  Or so he claimed. 

Emmett smiled.  That might be what Brian always said.  But his hand, gently settled against the blonde's hip, seemed to say otherwise. _We'll see._


	7. Introductions

Brian felt someone push up behind him.  He flinched.  

"It's just me, Brian," Lindsay said.  He let his shoulders relax, and turned his head towards her.  "Where was I supposed to sleep?"  

"There is good," Brian said as she curled against his back.  "Sorry.  This kid... we heard him screaming.  Some guy was beating him up."  

"I can see that," Lindsay replied, covering herself with another ragged blanket.  "He looks like hell.  And he can't be older than 14."  

"Sixteen," Brian replied.  "He's got a driver's license."  

"Could be fake," Lindsay said.  

"Would you get a fake that said you were sixteen if you could get one that said you were 18?  Or 21?" Brian pointed out.    

"Nobody would believe he was 21," Lindsay said.  "License or no."  

Brian studied the boy laying in front of him.  It was hard to tell exactly what he looked like now, with his lip and eye swollen up, and that bruise on his cheek.  

Brian shrugged.  "I believe him," he said.  

He felt Lindsay snuggle closer.  "What's his name?" she asked, almost directly into his ear.  

"Justin," Brian said.  He felt her nod, and then they were all quiet again.                                                           

 *****  

He woke again late in the afternoon.  He opened his eyes—and was staring into crystal blue ones.  

"Hi," the kid—Justin—mumbled.  He dropped his eyes down.  

"Hi," Brian replied.  The blond was blushing, where he wasn't black and blue.  "You been awake for awhile?"  

Justin nodded.  

"Why didn't you get up?" Brian asked.  

Justin shrugged.  "Why?  I don't have anywhere to go, or anything to do.  I just…"  His voice trailed off.  "I was scared I'd wake someone up."  

"Like me," Lindsay said from behind Brian's back.  She sat up.  Her hair was disheveled, and her makeup was smeared.  She rubbed the corner of her blanket over her face, taking care of the worst of the smears.  

Brian sat up, leaning against the wall.  Justin took his cue, staying next to him.  

"Justin, this is Lindsay.  Lindsay, Justin."  Brian introduced them, smirking slightly.  It was very high class of him, considering.  

"Hi Justin," Lindsay said.  "What brings you here?"  

"Uh…" Justin didn't know what to say.  Suddenly, she smiled, and he realized she was joking.    

"Lindsay thinks she's a country club member," Brian explained.  

"Excuse me?  I was a country club member, thank you very much."  She reached behind herself and pulled out a golf polo.  "Here's the proof.  Members only."  

"You're from Pittsburgh!" Justin said.  "That's a club by Pittsburgh."  

Lindsay looked surprised.  "You know it?"  

"Yeah.  I mean…" he trailed off.  

Brian rolled his eyes.  "We have a new chapter of the country club here in New York now.  Great.  How about you two go get martinis and talk about when you'll get married."  

Lindsay rolled her eyes.  "Well, as charming as this conversation has been, I have work to get ready for," she said.  She smiled at Justin again, and started digging through her stuff.  

"Me too," Brian said.  Justin watched as Brian pulled off his jacket and his tee shirt.  He had a nice body, he noticed, and then looked away, embarrassed.    

Brian put some deodorant on and slipped on a fresh wifebeater top.  "I'm decent," he said, watching Justin's ears turn red at his teasing.    

"I didn't…I mean—"  

"Relax kid, I'm joking."  He pulled his jacket on again and patted his pockets.  

"Where do you work?" Justin asked curiously.  Maybe he could work there too?  He'd need some way to make money after all.  

Brian snorted.  "You aren't really the brightest bulb, are you?" he asked.  Justin just stared at him, confused.  

Brian walked across the room.  "Ben, Emmett.  Come on."  

Two figures across the room sat up.  Justin recognized one of them; the big, muscled guy who'd carried him here.  But he didn't know who the other one was, a tall, skinny guy in jeans, with long hair in a ponytail against his neck.  

"Where's Michael?" the muscled one asked.  

"Don't worry, Ben.  Your lover will be back after rush hour."  Brian chuckled.  

Justin tensed.  He'd just said Ben's _lover_ would be back after rush hour.  There was no way a guy like Ben would let a comment like that go.  Were they going to fight?    

But Ben just stood up and brushed himself off without a word.  Didn't he care?  Justin was confused.  

He watched covertly as the slender one pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed another one off the floor.  Wait a second—that was a girl's shirt; a thin-strapped halter top, almost like the one Lindsay was wearing.  What the--?  

He suddenly remembered the girl/boy who had helped rescue him yesterday.  This was that guy.  Girl.  Whatever.  He watched as the person slid into a black miniskirt and a pair of boots.  

"Enjoying the show, sweetheart?" the person asked, in a high, feminine voice.  

Justin blushed furiously.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't—"  

"It's okay, kid."  Now the voice was male again, although very stereotypically 'gay' male.  "I know I'm interesting to look at."   

Justin's face was burning with embarrassment.  The person walked over to him.  "We haven't been properly introduced.  I'm Emmett."  He put out his hand, and Justin shook it.  "Justin," he replied.  

"Nice to meet you.  Now, not to rush off, but I have to get ready to work."  He brushed his hand over his face.  "Gotta get my makeup on."  His voice popped back into the more feminine timbre.  

Brian came over to him again.  "Put two and two together yet?"  Justin looked at all these people.  The big guy, Ben, was dressed like Brian, in a brown leather coat and a pair of blue jeans, except he had on a tight, white tee shirt that showed off his muscles.  Lindsay had on a black miniskirt and a red halter top, with crippling high heels, and so did Emmett, except his shirt was green and he was wearing knee-high boots.  Both had on an extraordinary amount of makeup.  They looked like…oh God.  

"You're…are you…"  Justin couldn't make the words come out of his mouth.  

"Hustlers.  And one hooker; that's Linds."   

Justin couldn't believe it.  "But…you're like sixteen."  

"Seventeen.  Mostly.  Ted's like twenty, I think, but he doesn't trick.  And Blake's younger than you, even."  He pointed to another corner.  Justin hadn't noticed the bony kid crashed there before.  

"He looks sick," Justin said.  

"He's a meth head."  Brian was dismissive.  "Listen, Ted and Mikey will be back soon enough, so you won't be alone with Tweaker here for very long."  

"But…"  

"Where else would you go?" Brian asked.  

"I don't know.  I just…I don't want to stay here."  

Brian shook his head.  "Listen, a kid like you, won't last ten minutes out there, especially not at this time of night.  You'll lose your virtue," Brian scoffed at the word, "to the first big, dirty old man who comes along and wants a hot piece of blond boy ass."  

 Justin flinched at the words, so similar to the ones that man at the bus stop had said.  "All right," he said.  "I'll stay here."    

There were footsteps in the hallway, and everyone turned to look.  A pale, dark-haired boy came through the door, holding a guitar case.    

"Michael, you're back," Ben said.  

"Yeah, and you're leaving.  I wish you could just stay.  Just for a little while?"  The teenager's voice was whiny.  Justin watched as he put his guitar against the wall.  Then he got the surprise of his life as the boy leaned into Ben's chest…  

And Ben wrapped his arms around him.  "You know I can't," he said.  

"Can't blame a guy for hoping," the guy named Michael said, and leaned into Ben.  

They kissed.  Justin felt his jaw drop.  No way.  That was why Ben hadn't freaked when Brian teased him about his lover?  Because he _WAS_?  He couldn't tear his eyes from the pair.  

They broke apart, and suddenly, Michael turned towards him.  "Who are you?" he asked.  His voice wasn't friendly.  

"I'm Justin," he said.  His voice was barely audible.  

"You have a problem with us?" Michael asked, gesturing between himself and Ben.  

"N-no," Justin replied.  "I didn't mean to—"  

"Leave him alone, Mikey," Brian said.   

"He's staring like he's never seen—"  

"I haven't," Justin replied.  "Well, except in magazines."  He blushed furiously, realizing he'd just outed himself.  And his porn habit.  

Brian started to laugh, then.  Justin wanted to crawl in a hole and die.  Of course he'd think it was funny.    

"See, boys, you're just putting on a show for an appreciative audience.  We've seen, and heard, it all before, but this kid might not actually mind hearing you two fucking in the wee hours of the morning."  Brian laughed again.  Michael and Ben both glared at Brian, and then turned back to each other, their voices dropping.  

Justin wished he could disappear.  "Hey, relax," Brian said.  "I'm just joking."  He smiled at Justin, and then said, "Alright, boys, I'm leaving.  Who's coming with me?"  

Ben gave Michael one last kiss, and then followed Brian and Emmett out the door.  

And Justin was alone.  Well, alone with Mikey and the Tweaker.  What was his name?  Blake?  

He sighed.  It was going to be a really, really long night.


	8. Sacrifice

Justin sighed again, for the fiftieth time, and wondered why he hadn't thought to bring some kind of distraction that didn't require plenty of light.  

He looked around the dirty little room again. Michael was asleep, and so was Ted.  He'd come in later, with a backpack and a tired look.  Justin had said hi, and nearly scared the poor guy into a heart attack.  Once Justin had explained that, yes, he'd been invited, and yes, it was okay with Brian and Ben, the man had been friendly enough.  He'd been studying for awhile, under the light of a flashlight, but that was hours ago. 

Justin wished he had a watch.  He'd guess it was around three in the morning, but his sleep schedule was really messed up now, and he didn't actually know. 

His stomach growled again, reminding him just how hungry he was.  This was stupid, to sit here awake and hungry.  He had money, after all, and he could find a convenience store, right?   He stood and put his wallet in his pocket.  After a moment, he thought better of it.  He took out a twenty dollar bill, and hid the wallet under the pile of ragged blankets.  He'd be back before Brian and Lindsay, probably, so he could put it away…he just had a bad feeling about carrying all of his money on him at the same time. 

He laughed at himself.  He was acting like a tourist.  But oh well.  It seemed like a smarter thing to do. He looked down at his sweatshirt.  There was blood on it.  Well, he could wash it in a bathroom somewhere.  He could stay out for awhile, if he wanted.  No one could stop him, right?  
  
He made his way cautiously down the hallway to the fire escape.  It looked really high, and he wondered how on earth he'd climbed it earlier.  He stepped out, and started the climb down.  

The ladder descended with his weight. Finally, he was on the ground.  He stepped off, and the ladder rolled back up.  Shit!  He hadn't thought about that; how would he get back up there?  He reached for the ladder, but it was too high in the air for his 5 feet 7 inches of height. Well, he'd worry about that later.  His stomach growled again.  Right now, he needed to get some food. 

He started walking, out of the alley and onto the main street.  It was almost empty, but he could see a neon sign about a block and a half away that said, "Open 24 hours."    

The walk there wasn't very long; it was a small, shabby convenience store.  He walked inside and a bell tied to the door jangled, announcing his presence.  Behind the counter stood an old man, who glared at him.  He ducked his head and walked down an aisle, wanting to get away from those disapproving eyes. He grabbed a pre-maid sandwich from a cooler, and then another.  He was awfully hungry, after all.  He also grabbed a pint of strawberry flavored milk, and headed up to the counter. 

The man rang up his purchases silently.  "$13.76," the man said, holding out an old wrinkled hand.  Justin silently placed the bill into them  Everything was so damn expensive! The man gave him change, and then Justin said, "Do you have a bathroom, sir?"  This man seemed like the sort with whom a little respect could go a long way.   

The man eyed him suspiciously.  "You gonna make a mess back there?" he asked. 

Justin shook his head.  "No, sir."  He tried to look innocent, and not like the kind of person who would trash a place for fun. The man pursed his lips.  "Back that way.  Can't miss it; the door's orange." 

Justin thanked him, and walked back towards the bathroom.  He easily found it; the door was indeed a neon, hunting orange color that was hard on the eyes.  He ducked inside and locked it. 

He looked at himself in the mirror.  His face looked like hell, even worse than it had before.  Not only was there a bruise on his cheek; his lip was swollen, with a definite line where it had split twice, and he had a black eye.  He hadn't realized exactly how much damage that Wayne guy had done.  Geez. 

He stripped off his sweatshirt, and scrubbed at the blood on the chest and neckline.  The water in the sink turned a dull, orangey-pink sort of color, but the blood had stained.  Eventually, he gave up and dried it as best as he could with a paper towel.   He used the bathroom, and washed his hands and face, wincing at the sting of soap on the cuts.  

Finally, he was as presentable as he could make himself.  He carefully pulled the sweater back over his head, and looked around the bathroom.  It didn't look any worse than it had before he'd been in it, so he shut off the light and left. 

He walked out of the store and onto the street.  He couldn't go back to the flat; there was no way to get back up there.  Wait.  There had to be a way.  Lindsay couldn't be taller than he was, and she'd gotten in, somehow, right? 

His stomach growled horribly, and he looked down at the small bag of food in his hands.  Maybe he'd eat first, and then go back. He sat with his back against the brick wall that made up the storefront, and unwrapped a sandwich.  It only took him a few minutes to gulp the entire thing down. 

He unwrapped the other one, and started eating it.  He was engrossed in eating, and he didn't even notice the pair of men walking towards him.  But they noticed him; and they were interested.

                                                             *****

Brian's body was sucking some guy's cock, but his brain was with Justin.  He wondered what the kid was doing…had he fallen asleep again, or was he staring blankly at a wall and wishing he hadn't run away from home? The kid was gay.  Brian wondered if that was why he'd run away, if that was why he looked like hell?  

After Jack found the porn, he had beaten Brian until he'd blacked out.  Brian usually hated alcohol, but he was glad that his father had passed out before he could do any more damage.  He'd quickly grabbed some of his stuff, thrown it into a bag, and left. 

He'd hitchhiked to New York, grabbing a ride with a trucker.  The man hadn't said a word about his appearance; he'd bought Brian a sandwich when he stopped in New York to let him out.  Brian had walked the rest of the way into the city.  It had taken awhile.  And it had been frightening as hell. 

And although Brian was good-looking, he wasn't as, well, _pretty_ , as this blond was.  That prettiness was a double edged sword—if he went into hustling, he'd make a fortune, but if he didn't want to do that, he'd have a hell of a time avoiding being forced into it. 

The man came, and Brian automatically swallowed his seed.  He had no gag reflex to speak of, or he would have thrown up at the sour, awful taste.  Brian opened the car door and left without a word; he'd gotten his money, the john had gotten off—everyone was happy. 

On his way back to his usual street, he felt an awful chill on his spine.  He looked around himself, wondering if maybe he was being watched or followed.  He didn't see anything.  What was going on? 

His thoughts flicked back to Justin.  Had he left the little apartment?  Maybe; the kid seemed kind of stubborn, for all his shyness.   He decided to stop at the shop now, instead of later.  He'd pick up some more condoms and lube—it had been a busy night.  He scoffed at himself as he walked down the empty street.  Busy night. 

He heard an odd, scuffling sound in the darkness, and his ears perked up.  He stopped. 

"Pretty little thing like you; you should be used to it by now."  The voice was gruff and older.  

Shit.  This sounded bad.  Brian's hand darted to his pocket, where the switchblade was. 

"We'll take that little ass twelve ways from Sunday," another voice added. 

"No!  Please, leave me alone!"  The voice was despairing.  And, Brian realized with a jolt, familiar.  The blond.  Justin. 

There were two guys, and only him.  But he felt a horrible pulling at his conscience.  He couldn't just leave him.  Damn it. 

"Leave him alone," Brian said, moving into the alleyway.  Three sets of eyes turned to look at him.  Justin looked terrified; the other two seemed annoyed. 

"What do you want?" the smaller of the two men asked.  Brian recognized him.  He'd bought him several times; he liked it rough.  Brian had been avoiding him for awhile.  It took too long to heal after his 'sessions'. 

"Leave the kid alone," Brian repeated.  He knew he couldn't force them not to hurt Justin; the best he could hope for was to interest them in him, instead.  "Come with me."  Brian did his best to put on a come-hither look on his face. 

"I've had you before…he's fresh meat," the man said, but the other looked interested.   

"Kid as pretty as that?  Hell, I'm fresher," Brian smirked. He stuck his hand in his pocket.  "I'll give you a deal.  Two for one."  His heart was beating fast. 

The men paused for a moment, and then shrugged.  "Why not?" one of them said, and the other nodded.  They released Justin, who bolted, his shoes kicking up rocks as he ran down the alley.  Thank god. 

"Right here," the rough one said.  He grabbed Brian's arm hard; Brian gritted his teeth against the pain. 

"$80," Brian said, with only a slight hope they'd actually give him the money.  The rough one laughed, but the other guy reached into his pocket and pulled out the money.  Brian tucked it away, and then gasped as the rough guy slammed him hard against the brick wall of the building. 

One pair of hands held his wrists over his head, and another pair tore at his jeans.  Brian closed his eyes, resigned to the experience. 

He heard the tear of a condom wrapper, followed by a swift, agonizing entry that made him cry out in pain.  He must be crazy.  Crazy.  He'd volunteered for this!  And for that kid's sake.  What the hell was wrong with him? 

He gritted his teeth and tried to relax into the pain.  At least it would be over soon. 


	9. Something Different

Justin ran wildly down the streets, not sure where to go.  He was lost.  Where was the apartment? 

Brian was still there, with those guys.  He'd offered himself to them.  Justin couldn't believe this guy would do that for him, would save him. 

Their words still echoed around his brain, horrible, frightening words of lust, want, claims.  He'd fought, but it hadn't helped.  The men had pinned him against the wall and started groping him through his clothes. And then Brian had shown up, like an angel.  He'd saved him.  

He looked around, wary.  Wait a second—that looked like the apartment!  He looked up at the fire escape ladder.  It seemed to be the same one, but he couldn't really tell.  He studied his surroundings, cursing himself for not paying enough attention earlier.  

Finally, he sat gingerly on the ground, with his back against the building.  Either one of the boys would show up and let him in… …or someone else might attack him.  He pushed that thought aside, not willing to dwell on the fact that he'd only been here for a little more than a day, and he'd been attacked and propositioned multiple times. 

He pulled his hood over his hair, trying to keep himself from being noticed in the dark.  He hoped Brian would show up soon. 

He'd sat there for roughly half an hour when he heard uneven footsteps.  He tensed and shrank down into his sweater, trying to be invisible. Suddenly, the footsteps rounded the corner.  It was Brian.  Justin jumped up and ran to him, his heart in his throat.                                                              

***** 

The second man pulled out of him and dropped the used condom to the concrete.  "You're still a good piece of ass, kid," the rough(er) guy said.  His friend laughed, and swatted said ass with the back of his hand.  "Resilient," he commented.  "I bet you could take a third round." 

Tears of pain came to Brian's eyes.  His ass was aching, and that had been a heavy smack.  "I don't think so," he said, praying to no one in particular that they wouldn't try again.  He couldn't refuse; all that would do was turn it from more or less consensual sex to rape.  It wouldn't stop it from happening.  And Brian refused to lose control; rape was the ultimate loss of control.  At least if he said it was okay, he could trick his brain into believing he was still in charge of the exchange.   

"Naw, we're done.  Come on; let's see if Fen is around.  I need to reload."  The first guy released him, and the pair walked off without another word. Fen was a local drug dealer; occasionally, Brian bought some stuff from him.    

Brian bent with difficulty.  It was pure agony to pull his jeans back over his ass.  He wondered how much damage had been done.  Too much, and he'd have to go to the free clinic; not his favorite activity ever.  He hoped it would just heal itself in a few days.  And until then…well, he'd be staying at the apartment all night. 

He began the walk back to the apartment.  His ass hurt so bad; his walk was less of a saunter and more like a pained waddle.  Well, that was alright, he supposed.  No one would pick up someone who looked like they'd been riding a horse. 

Brian snorted.  _Literally.  I never want to ride anything again_.  He'd never liked bottoming in the first place; he'd lost his virginity at 14, to his coach in the locker room.  Brian refused to call it rape, but that's what anyone else would have called it.  After that, he hadn't bottomed for three years, until he'd ran away and hadn't had a choice.  And he hated it.   

He rounded the corner, and suddenly saw someone running to him.  He flinched, unable to suppress it.  Then the figure's hood dropped off his head, revealing a lot of blond hair.  Justin. 

"Are you okay, Brian?" the boy asked.  He sounded frightened.  Brian managed a stiff nod.   

"I can't get back inside," Justin revealed.  "I'm not tall enough to reach the fire escape." 

Brian sighed.  He limped over to the fire escape and pulled it down.  "You climb first," he ordered, and the blond did.  Brian followed slowly.  Each movement was agony. Justin was watching him, concerned.  Brian climbed into the window and leaned against the wall, hoping the pain would even out enough that he could make it down the hallway.   

"I'm so sorry, Brian.  I just…I was so scared, and I just ran.  I didn't mean—" 

Brian cut him off.  "Sorry's bullshit." The kid looked like he'd been hit.  Again.  Brian softened it a little.  "It's not like it wouldn't have happened to someone, anyway.  And they paid me."  He pulled out the $80 and flashed it at the blond. 

"Yeah, but you're hurt," Justin said.   

"I'll be okay.  It's just like, oh, I don't know, a three night vacation.  Not a big deal."  Brian began to slowly limp down the hallway. 

"Here, let me help you."  Suddenly, Brian's arm was over the blond's shoulder, and Justin's arm was around his waist, gently supporting him.  Brian let himself be guided to the blankets and helped to lay down.  He groaned in pain when his ass hit the floor. 

"Here."  Justin shoved something at him.   

"What's that?" Brian asked, taking it. 

"Pajama pants.  They'll be softer than jeans.  I accidentally stole them from my friend Daphne.  They're her dad's."  The kid was babbling.   

Brian saw the logic in Justin's words, and undid his jeans.  He lifted his hips and pulled the jeans down, still laying on his back.  It hurt a lot, and Brian couldn't stop a small groan from escaping his lips. 

"You need some help?" Justin offered, looking concerned. 

"Yeah, I bet you'd enjoy that," Brian said, tongue in cheek.  

Justin's face flamed, and he ducked his head.   "I wasn't…that wasn't what I…" 

"Yeah, I could use some help," Brian said, taking pity on the embarrassed blond.  The kid carefully pulled off his jeans and helped him into the pajama pants without really looking at him.  Brian could see he was still blushing; his ears were bright red. 

"Relax," Brian said.  "You're going to burn up if you don't stop blushing like that."  Privately, Brian found it kind of adorable.  If he wasn't in serious pain right now, he'd be trying to fuck him.  Instead, he had to content himself just to look.  Unless… 

"Come on.  Let's get some sleep."  He rolled onto his side and patted the pile of blankets next to him.  

The kid looked startled. "I don't want to hurt you any more," he protested. 

"Sleeping next to me won't hurt me.  Unless you kick me in your sleep, or something." 

Justin flushed again, but lay down, ever so gently, next to Brian.  Brian decided to risk it, and put his arms around the blond.  He felt him stiffen.  Bad idea? 

"Are you just doing this…to be…mean to me?" the kid asked. 

"What?  No."  Brian didn't move his arms, unsure of what Justin was talking about.  "Why?  I wouldn't call this a particularly mean thing to do." 

"Well…I mean, you know I'm…uh…gay, right?" Justin asked.  His muscles were so tense; it felt like holding a board. 

"Yeah.  Your little comment about magazines kind of tipped me off."  Brian chuckled softly into his ear.  "Among other things.  So am I.  What's your point?" 

He felt Justin relax.  "Oh.  Okay."  Brian pulled him closer to his chest, and Justin didn't resist.  Brian couldn't remember the last time he'd held a guy like this.  Maybe never.  He and Lindsay had curled up together before, but she was a girl.  It was different.  But this…this was kind of nice.  _God, I sound like a fucking lesbian,_ Brian thought, but he didn't let go.  No one could read his thoughts, after all. 

They lay there like that.  Eventually, Brian felt himself start to get drowsy, in spite of the pain, still holding the other boy in his arms.   

Just before he fell asleep, he heard the blond whisper, "Thank you.  I'll make it up to you, somehow." 

The corner of Brian's mouth drifted up, in a lazy half-smile as he slid into sleep.


	10. Proposition

Justin carefully removed himself from Brian's arms and stood up.  He looked down at the beautiful teenager laying on the floor, asleep.  He seemed peaceful enough, but Justin knew he had been in serious pain earlier, and would probably be in more when he woke up.  

Which would happen soon—Lindsay was already awake, getting ready for the next night's work, and so were Ben and Emmett. 

"Lindsay?" Justin asked quietly. 

"Yeah?" she said. 

"Do you have any Tylenol?"  He wanted it for Brian. She dug through her small bag, and pulled out a bottle.  

"Here," she said, handing him the bottle.   He removed about 8 caplets, and stuck them in the front of his backpack.   

"Thanks," he said, and she nodded.  He decided to ask one more question.  "Hey, Lindsay?" 

"Yeah," she said again, lining her eyes expertly in the semi-darkness. 

"How do you get the fire escape down?  I can't reach it."  He blushed, but she just smiled again. 

"There's a hanger, a metal one, that's hidden alongside the building.  You just hook that on the fire escape and pull it down."  She grinned at him.  "It's close to those bricks." 

He knew where she was talking about.  "Thanks.  I don't want to get stuck down there again." 

Ben looked at him sideways.  "Justin?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Justin said, looking at the much larger guy. 

"Why is Brian still asleep?"  Ben looked concerned.  "Is he alright?" 

Justin felt fear jolt up his spine.  Ben had been friends with Brian for much longer than Justin had; what if he decided to hurt Justin for what had happened to Brian? 

"He's…okay.  These guys were….and he…"  Justin bit his lip nervously.  Ben looked at him for a long moment. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked.  Justin shook his head. "Is he?  I mean, does he need to go to the clinic?"   

"I'm fine, Ben."  Brian's voice drifted over to them.  Ben walked over to where Brian was laying.  

"You're fine?  You're staying here tonight, though?" 

"I'm not going to go out for a few nights, I don't think.  But I'm okay."  Brian sounded tired. 

"Did they use condoms?" Ben asked. 

"They didn't fucking rape me.  They paid.  It was just a little rough."  Brian glared up at the muscular teen.  "So, yes.  They did.  Relax. I'm fine." 

Justin wished he could disappear.  Ben nodded and turned. He almost ran into Michael. 

"What happened?  Why wouldn't you be fine, Brian?" the dark-haired boy asked. 

"No reason," Brian said.  "Relax, Mikey.  I don't need you to play fucking mother hen." 

"I learned from the best," Michael replied. 

"You really should go home, Mikey," Brian said.  "I'm sure Debbie's got the cops searching all over the Pitts for you." 

"I can't.  You know that.  Her boyfriend is scary as hell."  Michael shuddered.  "He fucking hit me!" 

"And you ran off.  But Mikey—" 

"No.  I'm not going back."  Michael shook his head.  He turned to Ben, and the two leaned against each other.  It was a surprisingly private moment, and Justin looked away.   

He walked over to Brian.  "You want some Tylenol?" he asked.   

"I want some weed," Brian said. 

"I've got some," Michael said, from seemingly nowhere.  He pulled a joint out of his pocket, and handed it to Brian, who smiled at him.  Brian dug in his jacket pocket and took out a lighter.  He lit the joint and inhaled deeply.   

"This is some good shit," Brian said after exhaling.  He took another hit.  "Want some?" he asked Justin.  

Justin shook his head. "Anything else I can do?" he asked.  He couldn't forget that this was his fault; that Brian was hurt because of him. 

Brian smiled.  "Not right now…but maybe later."  There was something sparkling in his eyes that made Justin shiver.  There was more to those words than met the eye.  

Brian took another hit. Justin could see his pupils being affected by the pot.  Brian seemed to relax quite a bit.  

"This stuff is a hell of a painkiller," he said.  "A few more hits, and I won't feel a damn thing.  Not bad."  He inhaled more smoke. Justin coughed.  He could feel…something, and he wondered if you could get high off of secondhand pot smoke.   

Ben, Emmett, and Lindsay all left as Brian finished off the joint.  Michael said, "I'm going to go get something to eat.  You want anything?" 

"Bring back a couple of sandwiches," Brian said, handing Michael a twenty dollar bill.  "But not too soon…give us a couple hours." Michael rolled his eyes and left without another word.  

Justin was confused.  Had he missed something? 

"Lay down," Brian said, his hand on the blond's wrist.  Justin did, turning so he was face to face with the beautiful, hazel-eyed boy. 

"You saved me last night," Justin said. 

"I know," Brian said.  Justin bit his lip.  

Brian shook his head.  "But you've gotta learn something.  Because I won't always be there, to save you.  You have to pay attention to what's going on around you." 

Justin nodded.   

"Listen to me, Justin.  Are you listening?"  He waited for the blond to nod again.  "A kid like you; it's dangerous to be on the streets.  Because you're…you look like you're about thirteen, you're blond, and you're pretty.  There are so many guys out there who would pay a lot for someone like you; and if you won't let them pay you for it…they'll just take it.  Those two aren't the only ones who'll take it by force."  He could see the fear in the boy's eyes, but he had to tell him.  "Especially here.  It's just how it works." 

Justin's chest felt tight.  "I can't…I can't do that, though.  I mean, I can't…s-sell myself.  I just…"   

"I'm not saying you have to.  I'm just telling you how things work here."  Brian reached out and touched the teen's face.  He was so innocent.  But Brian knew how things worked.  There was no way he could live here and stay that way. 

He saw tears in Justin's eyes.  "I don't want that to be… _mafistime_."  The words were so rushed that Brian didn't understand them. 

"What?" he asked, looking at Justin. 

"I've never…I mean…"  He was blushing again, and it clicked.   

"You're a virgin," Brian said. 

Justin said, "Well, not exactly…I mean, kind of….I had sex with a girl once.  But…" 

Brian nodded.  "It's a little different when it's your cherry they're popping." 

Justin nearly turned purple with embarrassment, but he kept talking.  "Last night, I was so scared…I mean, they hurt you.  And you weren't…I don't want my first, real time to be…to be…"  He didn't finish his sentence. 

Brian said, "Yeah.  I know."  He lay back, and put his arm out.  Justin kind of snuggled into it.  

Brian took a deep breath. "Do you want me to be your first?" he asked. Justin sat up, abruptly.  

"What?" he asked.  His voice cracked, and Brian chuckled. 

"Do you want me to be your first?  I'm pretty damn good at what I do."  His voice was quiet.  "I've had a lot of practice."  His tongue was pressed into his cheek. 

Justin looked at him.  He looked like he was serious.  But…this was really weird.  

"Would I have to pay you?" he asked.  

Brian laughed. "No.  It would be for fun."  He leaned closer.  "It's better than losing it out there," he gestured in the general direction of the streets, "without your permission." 

Justin swallowed hard.  This boy was his walking wet-dream; so handsome he could be called beautiful, great body, sexy as hell.  He wanted him, badly.  He had from the first moment he'd seen him. _I've got to be having a dream,_ he thought.  _I'm going to wake up with a raging hard-on, and he's going to laugh at me._  

"Are you…serious?" Justin asked.  "You aren't just fucking with me?" 

"Not yet," Brian said.  He enjoyed watching Justin's face flush at those words. Justin swallowed again.  

"Okay," he said, and miraculously, his voice didn't shake.  "When?" 

Brian smiled.  "How about now?"


	11. First Time

Justin could feel himself shaking with nervousness. Brian smiled at him, a hungry smile. He leaned closer, and their lips touched.

Justin had never felt a kiss like that before. Yeah, he'd kissed Kevin, and he'd thought that was pretty great, but this…this was amazing. Brian flicked his tongue gently against Justin's lips, then more aggressively, until Justin moaned into his mouth.

"You like that?" Brian asked. Justin nodded, and Brian smirked before kissing him again. He let his hands roam down Justin's back. Justin jerked when Brian's hand squeezed his ass. 

Brian suddenly pushed him down, flat on his back. He grunted; some of the bruises were still painful. Brian pulled off Justin's shirt, exposing a pale, smooth stomach.

"Take off your shirt," Justin said. "Please."

Brian smirked, and pulled off his wifebeater. _His body really was perfect_ , Justin mused. Then he saw a deep purple bruise on Brian's shoulder.

"You're hurt," he whispered. 

Brian shook his head."I'm feeling no pain right now, thanks to that Grade A medical marijuana of Mikey's," Brian said. "I'm," he kissed Justin's neck, "just…feeling…pleasure." 

He kissed his way down Justin's chest with each word, ending with a light kiss on Justin's nipple. Justin groaned and squirmed slightly. 

Encouraged, Brian began to lave the nipple gently. It stood at attention, and Justin whimpered. He'd never known how good something like that could feel before. "Oh god," he gasped. 

Suddenly, Brian closed his teeth around it, and Justin jumped."Ouch!" he cried, but his dick was hard.

"You liked it," Brian said confidently, kissing the pain away. He moved to the other one, licking and sucking until Justin was panting. Then he moved lower, leaving a light trail of saliva down Justin's belly. He undid his jeans and pulled them down, and then his underwear, exposing his cock.

Justin's head lolled back as Brian took him into his mouth. "Oh, god, Brian!" he moaned. Brian slid his tongue around the head, working the shaft with one hand. Justin could already feel his orgasm rising. He fought to keep from coming, but Brian expertly fucked his slit with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly, he was exploding.

His body trembled as he came, shooting spurts of cum down Brian's throat. Brian swallowed most of it, releasing Justin's spent cock from his mouth. He kissed the blond, sharing his taste.

"You're…oh, god, that was amazing," Justin whispered, tasting himself on Brian's tongue.

"That's just the beginning," Brian said. He was hard now, but he wasn't finished with the blond. "Do you know what rimming is?" 

"What?" Justin said. "Rimming?"

Brian smirked. "Turn over," he said.Justin looked nervous, but he flipped onto his stomach. Brian kissed the back of his neck, and then slowly ran his tongue down the blond's back, working his way over every vertebrae but avoiding the still-healing bruises. 

Brian put his hands on the blond's perfect ass and pulled apart his cheeks. "Relax," Brian whispered. "This part won't hurt." He chuckled as Justin tried to relax, and then dove in.

Justin gasped. What on earth was he doing? It felt…oh, god, that felt so good. He moaned and spread his legs further apart, so Brian would have easier access.

Brian ran his tongue over Justin's hole, which spasmed with each pass. When Justin was groaning incoherently, Brian stiffened his tongue and pushed inside

."Oh god!" Justin cried. "Please, Brian. I need…I need…" He couldn't form an entire thought. 

Brian pulled away and laughed."You ready?" he asked. Justin nodded, feeling only a little fear in the pit of his stomach.

"Turn over, then," he said.

"What? But I thought—"

"Trust me, Justin. Turn over." Justin flipped onto his back and looked up at Brian, whose pupils were dilated with lust and weed. He'd pulled off his pants and was kneeling, naked, between Justin's thighs.

"Wait. Do you…have a condom?" Justin was a little embarrassed, but he knew enough to use a condom.

Brian stared at him for a moment, and then threw his head back and practically howled. Justin stared at him, confused. Finally, Brian calmed down enough to explain.

"Justin, I do this for a living. I'm prepared like a regular fucking Boy Scout. Not that they'd have me…"

He handed Justin a condom. "Put it on me. Slip it on my dick."Justin stared at Brian for a long second, and then did as he was told. It was weird, to put a condom on someone else. He hadn't had much practice with himself, even; he'd only had sex once, with Daphne. That had been a disaster! But this…

"Put your legs on my shoulders," Brian instructed, helping Justin do it. Justin felt fear in his stomach, but he was still hard. Brian had a little packet of lube in his hand; he opened it and dropped a glob directly onto Justin's hole. Justin winced.

"That's cold!" he complained.

"It'll heat up," Brian assured him. He pressed one long finger against Justin's hole. "Relax. Open up for me."

Justin tried, and felt Brian's finger push inside him. At first, it burned, and he whimpered, but after a while, the burn subsided and all he felt was pleasure. Then Brian put another finger inside of him. There was more pain, and he felt tears come to his eyes. And then Brian _touched_ something, and he gasped as incredible bliss filled him. 

"Oh, god!" he cried.

He saw Brian smirk. "Ready?" he asked. Justin nodded, and Brian removed his fingers. Justin felt strangely empty. Brian slathered more lube on his dick, and leaned forward. Justin could feel the head of Brian's dick touching his hole.

"I want you to remember this," Brian said, and he pushed inside, stretching the first ring of muscle. Justin's entire body contracted at the pain. Sweat popped out on his forehead. 

"So no matter who you're with, or how, I'll always be there." He pushed in farther, until he was completely buried inside of Justin's body. Justin was gasping at the pain. He could feel tears running down his face. 

Brian leaned forward and kissed him again. They kissed like that for a little while, and Justin suddenly realized that it didn't hurt so much anymore. And then Brian started to move.

He hit that _place_ again, and Justin moaned. "You like that?" Brian asked, and Justin nodded. Brian hit it again, and Justin's head flew back, with a loud pant.

They moved together, finding a rhythm. It felt so good, now, and Justin couldn't believe how lucky he was, that he was with Brian. This beautiful, wonderful guy.

Brian moved faster, hitting Justin's prostate with each stroke, until the blond was screaming and moaning, an incoherent mass of pleasure underneath him. And then his muscles tightened around Brian, and the two came together, groaning and gasping.

They lay there, both breathing heavily. Brian hadn't had an orgasm like that for a long time. He kissed the blond again, and slowly pulled out, trying the condom and tossing it aside.

"That was…amazing," Justin whispered. " I didn't even know…hell, I didn't know anything. But you..."

Brian allowed Justin to curl into his arms, both of them still naked. He felt good there; felt right. Like that's where he belonged. 

_Shit. Another lesbianic_ _thought_ , Brian thought. But he was so satisfied that he just shook his head slightly, and let it go. 

"Now how am I supposed to repay you?" Justin asked. "I mean…you saved my ass, literally, and then just gave me the best fucking orgasm of my life…how do I repay you?" He sounded a little nervous.

Brian laughed. "You are kidding, right?" he asked the blond.

"No. I have to do something," Justin said.

Brian shook his head. "You just did. Now, you better get dressed, unless you want to be naked when Mikey and Ted get here." Brian released the blond and pulled on the pajama pants.

Justin dressed quickly. He'd forgotten about Michael and Ted.

Brian said, "Come here," and Justin lay next to him, enjoying the feeling of the brunet's skin against his cheek. Brian hadn't bothered to put his shirt back on.

Brian felt tired again, a combination of the weed and the post-orgasm relaxation, and he closed his eyes. He could already feel the evenness of Justin's breathing, telling him the other teen was asleep.

*********

Michael cautiously walked down the hall, listening for sex sounds. He didn't hear any, so he walked into the room, holding the bag of sandwiches.

They were both asleep, the blond with his head on Brian's bare chest, their arms wrapped around each other. Michael couldn't help but think it was kind of cute, as long as Justin didn't expect too much. 

He left the bag near Brian, and went over to his own little pile of blankets to get some sleep.


	12. Hard Truths

When Brian woke up, his first sensation was pain.  It all came back in a rush; the guys in the alley, and how Justin had "thanked" him.  He hadn't been bad, either.

Justin woke up, feeling Brian moving.  He shifted in his arms until he was facing Brian.  "Are you okay?" he asked.

"You have anything?" Brian asked.  

"All I have is some of Lindsay's Tylenol," Justin said.  He rolled over and grabbed his backpack, digging three caplets out of one of the pockets.  He handed them to Brian, who tossed them back and swallowed hard.

"Guess it's better than nothing," Brian commented.  "Fuck.  I'm sore."

Justin silently agreed, although he knew that whatever Brian was feeling must be a lot worse than his own sore ass.  He lay back down next to Brian and looked at him.  _He really is beautiful_ , Justin mused again.  _I should sketch him_.  

"Stop looking at me like that," Brian said.  Justin dropped his eyes immediately, embarrassed.    
  
"I didn't mean to…I'm sorry," Justin said.  "I just was thinking…I wanted to sketch you." 

"Sketch me?" Brian asked.

"Yeah, I like to sketch," Justin said.  "And you…You'd be so great."

Brian sighed, refusing to smile, even though the blond's complimentary words made him want to.  

"You can't draw me in the dark," Brian said.  "And it's pretty damn dark in here." The only light came from a street lamp, shining through a crack in the boarded-up window.  It fell across Brian's face, illuminating him.

"If it wasn't, I would draw you," Justin said.  "The picture would be stunning."

"Yeah, well, it is.  So much for that."  The two lay there in silence for a few minutes.  

"What time is it?" Brian asked after awhile.

"I don't know," Justin said.  "I don't have a watch.  I actually don't even know what day it is."

Brian shook his head.  "Doesn't really matter, I guess.  No school, no job…well, I've got one, but you don't."

"I could," Justin said.  "I mean…now that…"  He trailed off.

Brian raised one eyebrow.  "You want to be a hustler?" he asked.

"I don't _want_ to," Justin said.  "But I've got to make money somehow.  What I brought with me won't last forever."  His stomach growled noisily then.  "It isn't like I'd have to do it that often…I mean, how much do you make per…time?"

"Go to the train station with Michael and sing or something," Brian said, ignoring the question.  He couldn't ignore the ache in the pit of his gut at the idea of this beautiful, innocent kid selling himself.  Brian had never been that innocent.  Which was, he supposed, for the best, considering.  

"Yeah, 'cause Michael likes me sooo much," Justin said sarcastically.

"Listen to me Justin.  Are you listening?  You don't want to do this.  Nothing good comes of it."  Brian's face was deadly serious.  "Guys like those two who I rescued you from?  They're everywhere.  And a kid like you wouldn't last too long with them."

"I could handle it," Justin said.

"Are you sure?  You really think you could handle all the shit they could do to you?  Hell, I bet you've never imagined some of the things guys like that want to do."

"I'm not that naïve," Justin protested.

"You are, if you think that hustling is a good idea.  It isn't."  Brian's voice was hard.

"I don't think it's a good idea.  But…I mean, you do it.  It can't be all that bad.  It's just…it's just sex."  Justin's voice wavered slightly on the last few words.  All his life, he'd heard that sex was supposed to be between people who loved each other.  He wasn't sure he could really believe in 'just sex.'

"Just sex?  Ha.  You wish it was just sex.  If it was just sex, it wouldn't be that bad.  But the guys who pick up guys our age?  They're _pervs_ , okay?   It's very rarely 'just sex' with them. At the very least, they get off on screwing teenagers.  And at the worst… I've been with guys who…and the guys who pick up Blake…they do some weird shit.  Teddy bears and diapers, guys who spank him and tell him to call them 'Daddy,' all kinds of weird shit.  Stuff that isn't 'just sex.'"  Brian's voice was strained.  "You gonna let them tie you up?  Shave you, whip you, beat you, burn you?  You okay with doing multiple guys in the same night, or at the same time?  Playing some weird, twisted version of 'doctor' from hell?  What about drinking piss, or—"

"Drinking piss?" Justin interrupted weakly.  His brain was reeling with the horrible, twisted visions Brian was supplying.

"There's all types out there.  And no," Brian said, "I'm not a fucking piss queen.  But unless you're ready to fight, to defend yourself, and to occasionally get forced into something that you don't want to do, you can't do this."  

Pain flashed over Brian's beautiful features, and Justin wondered what he was remembering.  "It isn't 'just sex.'"  His voice was barely a whisper.

"Okay," Justin said.  "I get the point."  He shuddered.  He hadn't realized exactly how rough things were for Brian, Ben, Emmett, and Lindsay.  And Blake, too…he hadn't known he was a hustler.

"So if you want to make money, trust me—beg.  Draw things for people…there's someone out there who'll buy anything.  Use any talent you have…just not the ones you use in bed."  Brian's voice was full of half-strangled emotions.

Justin scooted closer to him, and gingerly wrapped his arms around Brian.  He didn't reciprocate, but he allowed it.  Eventually, Justin felt his body relax ever-so-slightly.

"I…I want you safe," Brian said.  "And this…it isn't safe.  It's not."  

"Okay," Justin said.

Brian hoped he'd gotten through to the blond.  He was so…god.  Beautiful, but stubborn, and naïve as hell.  He didn't want to have to go to his rescue again…and he had a feeling he would feel compelled to if it was necessary.  Like he had before.  

He shook his head.  This blond had somehow wormed his way into Brian's circle, without Brian's knowledge or consent.  And no matter what he did, Brian couldn't get rid of him.

Justin couldn't believe all the things Brian had told him.  He kept having awful pictures flash through his mind, of Brian in all those horrible situations he'd talked about.  People had really hurt him.  How could anyone hurt someone so beautiful, so…Brian?  It seemed impossible.  He kept seeing the pain in Brian's eyes, and it haunted him.  He shuddered, wishing he could rid himself of the images. But they were stuck in his brain, and he couldn't get rid of them.  

The two lay together in the dark, trying not to cry, and trying to be strong.  Life had changed, whether they liked it or not.  So now what? 

 


	13. Mistake

Brian knew he must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up later, the pain was back, in all its intensity, and his face was wet.  With tears, he realized with a start, and then got another one when he realized they were his tears, and not Justin's.  He scrubbed them off his face with the back of his forearm.  Wait a minute.  Where was Justin anyway?  
  
"Take this," Justin said, coming up from behind him. 

"What is it?" Brian asked cautiously, trying to keep Justin from seeing his tear-streaked face. 

"It's Tylenol.  You were crying in your sleep."  _Well, so much for that_.  

Justin sat down next to him and popped the pills past Brian's beautiful lips.  Brian swallowed hard.  

"I figured you must hurt pretty bad." 

"Uh…yeah," Brian said.  "It hurts like a motherfucker.  You don't have anything stronger than Tylenol?" 

"No," Justin said.  "I don't know where to score anything around here, either." 

"Mikey probably has some," Brian said. 

"Michael and Ben are…uh…busy," Justin said.  His face flushed, remembering his surprise when he'd stood up to grab some more Tylenol and saw way, way more than he'd intended of Ben and Michael.   He would have watched—if it had been a movie.  But they were right there, and Ben even said something about enjoying the show, without even slowing his thrusts.  Michael was very obviously not caring who watched either.  He'd blushed, grabbed more Tylenol, and  bolted back over to Brian. 

Brian's face screwed up in a mix of pain and irritation.  "Mikey!" he yelled. 

"What…do…you….want?" Mikey panted, still firmly connected to Ben.  It was obvious the pair was getting close to orgasm. 

"I need some more of that weed, man.  I'll pay you for it.  That's some amazing shit."  Brian's pain was obvious in his voice. 

"Give…me…few…minutes," Michael panted. Brian let his head drop back to the stack of rags that doubled as a pillow.  Justin curled around him, stroking his forehead with light pressure. 

"What are you doing?"  Brian asked. 

"Uh…I don't know.  My mom used to do it when I had headaches as a kid.  Do you want me to stop?"  Justin moved his hand away. 

"No," Brian said.  "It…it helps."  His voice sounded oddly vulnerable, and Justin didn't understand.  He just continued to rub the brunet's forehead. 

Justin could hear Ben and Michael climax, and the various after-sex noises he hadn't realized people made.  The mild groan as the pair separated; the twang of the condom being tied off and tossed, the slow cadence as breathing became normal again. 

Finally, there were footsteps.  Michael, still naked, was holding out a blunt.  

"How much do I owe you, Mikey?" Brian asked. 

"It's free, Brian," Michael said. 

"That shit's expensive," Brian said. 

"Yeah, and you and Ben pretty much take care of everything for me, so you can take a free blunt now and again," Michael said.  

Brian took it, and Mikey walked back over to where he and Ben slept. 

"Ben's pretty easy going," Justin noted.  He was thinking about how he'd walked over them having sex, and neither teen had blinked.  

"Ha ha.  Yeah.  Good old Zen Ben.  He's gotta be like that, though.  Big guy like him can't fly off the handle all the time.  He just has to look like he could do damage; we don't need him to actually kill people.  Usually."  Brian had taken at least three good hits during this little monologue, and it was starting to get to him.  "You want some?" 

Justin shrugged, and Brian beckoned to him.  "Come here," he said.  Justin sat next to him. 

Brian took a huge hit, and then grabbed the back of Justin's neck and pulled him into a kiss.  He breathed out into Justin's mouth, and Justin inhaled. 

"Whoa," Justin said.  Brian smiled at him; already he could tell it was affecting him.  

"Take a direct hit," he said, handing Justin the blunt.  Justin did, and started coughing immediately.  But…yeah, this was nice.  

"Mmm," Justin whispered.  He leaned into Brian's chest. The pair began to make out, slowly and leisurely kissing each other, enjoying the feeling of the other's lips, tongue, mouth on theirs. 

"Jeez.  One night without working and you're fucking horny," Lindsay said, walking over to them.  "Where'd I put my—" 

"This isn't horny," Brian said.  He took another hit.  "If I was horny…I'd make you blush." 

Both Lindsay and Justin blushed at that, which made Brian chuckle.  "You are too easy," he said, and he put his hand on Justin's hip and began kissing him again. 

Lindsay moved away, and Justin pulled back.  "So…if this isn't because you're horny…"  He felt something like love bubbling inside of him, and he wondered if the brunet felt it too. 

"It's…fun," Brian replied, kissing him again.  "Something that feels good." 

"Can't it be more that that?" Justin asked.  "Maybe…maybe it's love." 

Brian froze for a good three seconds, then pushed the boy away.  "I don't believe in love," Brian said.  "I believe in fucking.  In having fun, and feeling pleasure.  Not love." 

Ben and Emmett were walking out the door.  Brian stood up.  

"Wait up," he called, and they did.  Brian shrugged on his jacket and headed after them, only limping slightly. 

"Where are you going?" Justin asked, trying to conceal the hurt and confusion he felt. 

"Out," Brian said.  He pushed past Ben and Emmett and then he was gone, leaving Justin close to tears on the dirty floor.


	14. Talking

 

"Where are you going?" Ben asked Brian, who was limping in front of him.  "You're not really in any shape to—" 

"Fuck off," Brian said roughly. 

"You aren't going to try to work, are you honey?  You're still walking like you've got a telephone pole stuck up your—" 

"Did you hear me say fuck off?  That goes for you too, Em."  He glared at the slender queen in front of him, who merely shrugged. He wasn't going to try to work; he was still in some pain, even though he was high, and knew that working would just aggravate the hell out of whatever was going on down there anyway.  

But he had to get away from Justin.  Love?  Who did he think he was talking to? He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag.  God damn it.  Why ruin a perfectly good fuck with words like love?                                                               

***** 

Justin was confused.  He fought back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.  What had he done?  Why was Brian angry with him?  He didn't understand. 

Michael sat on the floor on his and Ben's 'bed', a make-shift pile of rags much like the one Brian, Lindsay, and now Justin slept on.  He was eating a sandwich, and covertly watching the blond. He could see that Justin's eyes were brimming with tears.  

Damn it.  This was Brian's fault, Michael knew it.  And Brian might be his best friend, but… The kid sniffed hard and swiped his forearm across his eyes.   

Michael took pity on him.  He stood up and walked over to the blond.  "Hey.  He's not worth crying over." 

"I'm not crying," Justin said thickly.  "I've got allergies." 

Michael rolled his eyes.  "Listen.  I heard a little bit of that conversation you were having with Brian—" 

"You were listening to our conversation?" Justin protested. 

"Not intentionally; let me finish.  I heard you say something about love."  Michael looked at the blond for confirmation.   

"Yeah.  So?" Justin sniffed again. 

"Well, there's something you should know about Brian.  He doesn't do love.  He just doesn't.  He doesn't couple up; he doesn't do boyfriends.  He'll fuck or suck anything with a dick, but love is not a word in his vocabulary.  And if you try to get it from him, you're just going to get hurt."  Michael was firm.  He didn't want to hurt the kid, but he needed to know. 

"What do you know about it?  He's not your boyfriend." 

"He's not anyone's boyfriend.  Are you even listening to me?"  Michael fought to control his exasperation.   

"But…but I love him."  Justin's confession was quiet. 

"You can't.  Find someone else.  Listen, if you want a great fuck, Brian's your guy.  But he'll break your heart.  Find someone else to love." 

"I can't," Justin said.  "It's too late.  I love him."  His voice was pained.  "I think I loved him since when he saved me…the first time." 

Michael sighed.  He didn't know what to say to convince Justin it would never work.  "Well, you'll see.  He'll break your heart, and you'll have to move on." 

Justin sniffed again.  "I won't let him," he said. Michael shook his head, marveling at the persistence of this boy.  He decided to stop banging his head against the figurative wall.  He ripped his sandwich in half and held it out to Justin.  

"Want it?" he asked. Justin took it, and smiled shyly at Michael.  

"Thanks," he said.  

"You're welcome," Michael said, and then he returned to his own pile of blankets.  Poor kid.  Well, he'd learn eventually.

 

*********

 

Brian climbed the ladder very carefully; the weed was more or less gone, and he was really hurting.  He carefully went through the window and limped heavily down the hall.  

Suddenly, there was someone at his elbow.  He flinched, startled.

"It's just me," Justin said.  "Let me help you."

"I'm fine," Brian lied, gritting his teeth as the pain worsened.

"Oh, right.  The fact that you're wearing your molars down to stubs means nothing."  Justin put his arm around the stubborn older teen, and helped him lay down.  

"How many days has it been?" Brian asked.

"Huh?" Justin asked.

"Since…those guys?  How many days?"  Brian repeated himself.

"Uh…I think three," Justin said.  "Why?"

"Shit," Brian said quietly.

"What?  Why?" Justin asked, concerned.

"I should be…I shouldn't still be hurting this much."  His voice was strained.

"Do you need to see a doctor or something?" Justin asked.

"Or something," Brian replied, licking his lips.  "I'm gonna have to hit the free clinic tomorrow.  Fuck."

"Free clinic?" Justin repeated.

"Yeah.  Tomorrow, they'll be open.  Fuck, it's gonna be a long day."  Brian sighed and lay back.  "Do you have any—"

"Just Tylenol," Justin said.

"I'll take it," Brian said after a moment.  "Even if it doesn't do a damn thing," he muttered under his breath as Justin dug through his bag for the last of it.  He handed Brian the pills, and Brian swallowed them dry.  

Justin watched Brian lay on his side, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep.  "I'll go with you," Justin said, laying down next to him so they were face to face.

"No," Brian answered.

"It wasn't an offer.  You need someone with you."

"Yeah, you'll be a lot of help," Brian said.  _You got me into this in the first place._ But he couldn't help but be glad that Justin wasn't hurt; that his first time had been with him and not some creepy assholes in an alley.

"I'm better than nothing.  I'm going with, and you can't stop me."

"Aren't we being mature," Brian said.

"Look who's talking," Justin retorted.  They were silent for a long minute.  Finally, Brian sighed.  

"Alright.  You can come with me.  Twat."Justin rolled his eyes, but decided that if it made Brian feel better to "give permission," he could deal with that.  Especially if that meant Brian wasn't angry at him for using the dreaded "L" word.  

"Good night, Brian."

"'Night."  Brian's voice was gruff, but after a second, he put his arm over Justin's body, and Justin smiled to himself in the dark.  It would be okay.


	15. Free Clinic

Justin stirred when he felt something touch his back.  

"It's just me," Lindsay whispered, her hand gentle on his shoulder blade. Justin snuggled closer to Brian.  Suddenly, he realized something.  

"Hey, Lindsay?  What time is it?" 

"Around 9 a.m. I suppose," she said.   

"What time does the free clinic open?" Justin asked. 

"I think…I think 9," she said. 

"We better get going, then," Justin said, and he turned towards Brian.  "Wake up, Brian," he said. 

"Why?" Brian asked, his eyes still shut. 

"We're going to the free clinic," Justin replied.  "Now." 

Brian sighed.  "We can wait a few more hours, I think."   

"Why are you going to the clinic, Brian?" Lindsay asked.  "You hate that place." 

"I…think I got torn up," Brian said.  "I'm going to have them check me out."  He carefully sat up, wincing.  He ignored Lindsay's look of sympathy. 

Justin stood up and brushed off his clothes.  He offered Brian a hand; it was ignored.  Brian laboriously climbed to his feet, obviously in pain through every movement.  

"Do you have any more Tylenol, Lindsay?" Justin asked.  She silently offered him the bottle.  He pulled out three, and gave them to Brian.  
 

"They don't do any good," Brian said, but he tossed them back, grimacing at the taste.   

"Are you ready?" Justin asked, handing the bottle back to Lindsay. 

"Yeah.  I'm ready.  We'll go on an 'excellent adventure.'"  Brian used his best 'Keanu Reaves' voice. 

"Alright.  Be careful, you two," Lindsay said.  Justin smiled over his shoulder at her, and the two walked into the hallway together.                                                           

 ******

The walk had been torture.  It had taken forever; Brian's odd limp got more pronounced the farther they walked, and both boys had been jumping at shadows.  They were vulnerable, and they knew it. 

Finally, Brian had said, "That's it," and pointed at a small brick building with a red awning that said, 'Free Clinic' crammed between two other brick buildings. 

"Nice place," Justin said sarcastically. 

"Only the best for such an expensive Manhattan call-boy," Brian snarked. The pair walked inside the crowded clinic. 

"Now what?" Justin asked quietly. 

"Now, I get a number and we sit and wait."  Brian grimaced at the idea of sitting. 

"I'll get it," Justin said. "You sit." 

"I have to," Brian said.  "I have to explain what's wrong with me."   

So they went up to the window together.  Brian looked at the woman sitting behind it.  "I need a number," he said. 

She looked at him.  "What's your complaint?" she asked. 

"I think I got torn up," he said, "and since I'm here anyway, I might as well get tested."   

"You need an internal exam?" the woman asked, writing on a clipboard. 

"I've been bleeding for a few days now.  Not a lot, but…it didn't clear up on its own."  Brian didn't seem the least embarrassed by his words, but Justin was blushing an almost neon color. 

"Here," the woman said, handing him a slip of paper with the number 87 on it.  "Wait out there; they'll call you back." 

Brian took the paper and shoved it in his jacket pocket.  "Come on," he said to Justin.  "Let's find a place to sit." 

They miraculously found two hard plastic chairs next to each other.  Justin saw Brian wince as he sat.  

"You could sit on your jacket," Justin suggested. Silently, Brian stood, removed his jacket, folded it, and sat back down.  

"It doesn't really help that much," he said under his breath. 

"It's better than nothing, Brian." 

They sat there silently for awhile, before Justin found the courage to say, "You didn't tell me you've been bleeding." 

"Yeah, 'cause that's exactly what I want to tell the guy I've been sleeping with. 'I'm bleeding.'  Makes it sound like I'm a fucking girl, with a period or something."  Brian shook his head.   

"You should have come here before," Justin insisted.  "You shouldn't have waited this long." 

"It's not that bad," Brian said.  "Trust me."   Justin looked at the beautiful, stubborn teenager next to him.  It hurt, knowing that Brian had been hurt before, hurt so much that the fact he was bleeding didn't phase him.  Even though he'd been bleeding for awhile.  'It's not that bad,' he'd said.  Justin didn't want to know what would constitute bad in Brian's eyes.   

They sat there in silence as number after number was called.  Justin stared at the people around him.  There were so many; girls around his age holding toddlers, old people of indeterminate gender dressed in layers, middle-aged men who reeked of beer.  He wondered, and not for the first time, what he was doing here.   

But his father…his father had hurt him, and his mother hadn't defended him.  He hadn't really had a choice.  And he'd met Brian.  And because of that, he didn't complain.  Maybe everything really did happen for a reason. 

He heard Brian swear quietly under his breath as he shifted his weight.  Except, what reason could there be that Brian had to be hurt?  And hurt defending him.  Justin felt a stab of self-hatred. 

"I'm so sorry, Brian," he said quietly.  "I'm sorry that I let you—"  
  
"Shut up," Brian said.  "Don't even say that."  His voice was harsh.  He looked at Justin with steel in his eyes. 

"But—" 

"No," Brian said.  "I'll be fine.  This…what they did to me…it would have broken you.  It would have been so much worse; because you were a virgin, because it would have been rape, because of so many things.  I'm fine.  It's just physical."  His voice was quiet, but forceful. 

Justin wanted to cry.  He wondered if Brian really believed that, or if he was just saying it to make him feel better.  If so, it wasn't really working. 

"Eighty-six," a nurse called, and a teenager holding a baby walked through the door. 

"Are you going to wait out here for me?" Brian asked, studying Justin.   Justin nodded.  

"What else would I do?" he asked.  "It's not like I've got anything better to do." 

Brian half-smiled, half-smirked, and patted Justin's cheek.  "Good boy," he said. 

"When you feel better, I'll show you just how good," Justin offered slyly.  Brian shook his head.   

"And he was so innocent when I met him," he said to no one in particular.  _He still is, actually._ And Brian wanted him to stay that way. 

"Eighty-seven," the nurse called. 

"Later," Brian said, wincing as he stood up. 

"Later," Justin replied.  He watched Brian limp up to the nurse, and then out of sight.  He sat back with a sigh.  Waiting. 


	16. Fucking, Stupid

Brian lay still as the doctor stitched him up, his legs spread awkwardly.  He didn't feel anything, and that was nice.  His ass had been hurting for days now; the lack of pain was great.   

"Alright.  Those stitches will dissolve on their own; you won't have to come back and have them removed," the doctor said, pulling off his gloves.  He moved to the sink and started to wash his hands.  "You can get dressed now." 

"Funny," Brian said, "usually I'm the one who says that."  He stood up and pulled on his jeans carefully.  "Although, usually I'd charge a hundred bucks for someone to get that intimately acquainted with my ass, so…"   

"Was it protected sex?" the doctor asked, interrupting Brian's sarcastic snarking. 

"Always," Brian replied.   

The doctor dried his hands and said, "Alright.  You should avoid anal sex for at least a week; you don't want those stitches to come loose." 

"Just receiving, or giving too?" Brian asked.   

"Nothing too strenuous," the doctor said.  When he'd started at the clinic, this question would have thrown him, but not anymore.  "You can top, but don't do anything that will cause a lot of strain.  I'll send someone in to do the HIV test, also, and then you're free to go."  He left, pulling aside the curtain that separated Brian from the dozens of other people.   

Brian sat on the edge of the table, waiting.  He hated getting tested for HIV, but he did anyway.  He'd learned, somehow, that it was supposed to be done every six months, and had done it even before running away.  This would be his first test after he'd started hustling, and he was nervous. 

An orderly walked in.  "Brian?" he asked. 

"Yeah."   

The man gestured at him.  "Take off your jacket," he said.  Brian silently complied, and the man put the rubber band around his arm and began looking for a vein. He took the blood quickly, and marked it.  

"Alright.  You can check back in a week or so.  Name you want to check the blood under?" 

"Brian Kinney," Brian said.  He knew no one was looking for him; might as well use his real name.  It would be easier to remember if nothing else. 

"Alright.  You can go."   

Brian hopped off the table and walked towards the lobby area.  Justin was immediately there.  "Are you finished?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Brian said.  "I'll have to come back next week to get the results of my HIV test."  He walked towards the door, with Justin tailing him. 

"HIV test?  I thought you said they used condoms," Justin said. 

"They did.  But once you start having sex, you have to get tested every six months," Brian said.   

"Why?" Justin said. 

"Because you're a gay man."  Brian kept his explanation short. Justin swallowed hard.  

"Oh," he said quietly.  He hadn't known that; he'd known nothing.  What if Brian did have HIV?  Would he have gotten it?  It scared him; terrified him, actually.  He tried to hide it. Brian saw it.  

"Listen.  We used a condom, it didn't break…you should be fine, whether or not I…I have it." 

Justin felt sick.  "Alright," he said.  His voice was crackly. Brian looked at him for a moment.  

"It'll be fine," he said, putting his arm around the blond's shoulders.  Justin allowed him to pull him close, even though they were in public, in front of the clinic doors. 

After a moment, Brian released him.  "Come on.  Let's go back to the…apartment."                                                             

*****

 Justin left to get some food.  He was nervous about it, but he figured, it was daytime.  What could really happen? 

He made it back fine, but as he walked down the hallways, he heard noises.  Sex noises, he realized after a moment.  That sounded like…was that Brian?  

He stopped dead, dropping the bag of groceries on the floor. The smell of strong pot floated down the hallway, distracting him.  Where was Michael getting all this great weed, anyway?   

Another moan brought him back to the present issue.  It did sound like Brian.  Who was he fucking?  Suddenly there was another, high-pitched moan.  It sounded…female.  What the fuck? 

Justin nearly ran into the room, and got the shock of his life.  Brian was on top of Lindsay, and they were fucking.  Even as he stood there, Brian let out a guttural groan and came, panting into Lindsay's shoulder.  Justin's eyes widened.  No way.  

"What the hell?" he said, and his voice was high with shock. Lindsay and Brian both looked up at him.  They seemed kind of startled. 

"What's going on?" Justin asked.  The three of them stared at each other… …and then Brian and Lindsay burst into hysterical laughter.  

"Oh my god…your face!" Brian said. 

"What are you doing?" Justin asked.   

"What does it look like?  We were fucking!"  Brian and Lindsay collapsed into another set of giggles.  Justin could see they were both incredibly stoned, and he wondered if that pot had been laced with something else. 

"You were fucking…her?  Why?"  Justin couldn't believe Brian would fuck Lindsay.  He wasn't straight; he'd said so himself.  What was happening? 

"She said I didn't know anything about fucking a woman.  I said I did…and she told me to prove it!"  Brian snickered again.  His pupils were huge.  "So I did." 

"Yeah, he did," Lindsay said, giggling too.  "You weren't too bad, you know." 

"I'm never bad," Brian said.  He pulled away from Lindsay, and Justin got another shock. 

He wasn't wearing a condom.


	17. Results

They had been useless; two giggling messes. He'd pointed out the lack of condom. They'd seemed concerned…for two seconds. And then they'd started laughing again. Everything was funny. Justin had tried fruitlessly to scare them, but they didn't care. The drugs were too strong to allow logic through.

Eventually, they'd fallen asleep, much to his relief. He didn't know how much more idiocy he could handle without exploding. Justin sat against the wall, waiting for them to sleep it off. And then what?

The HIV test Brian had taken earlier now had more significance. If he had it, he'd just given it to Lindsay. And what if she had it? Justin didn't know if women could pass it to men, but what if they could?

He couldn't believe Brian had been so stupid. Surely Brian had had sex high before; he smoked pot on a regular basis at the very least, and had bragged about everything else he'd tried. Wouldn't he still remember to use a condom? It should be like remembering to breathe, to someone who had as much sex as Brian did. But…no condom. Justin shook his head, trying not to think about it.

And then, there was the fact that he'd had sex with Lindsay. A girl. Justin didn't understand. Sure, he'd had sex with Daphne, but that had been back when he was trying really, really hard to be straight. He'd thought if he could do it with her, that would make him straight. It hadn't. But Brian didn't want to be straight. He'd done it because she'd said he couldn't. The stubborn bastard. He'd done it to prove a point.

"Yeah, well, you proved something, you moron," Justin whispered.

Brian rolled over, reaching for something. Whatever he was reaching for wasn't there. Justin wondered for a moment if Brian was reaching for him. Probably wishful thinking, but he hoped it was true. Shit. Why did he have to fall for THIS guy, this crazy, beautiful, fucked up guy? His mother would be so, so proud. She'd raised him on fairy tales, and this is what he got. His frog prince. A very handsome frog, but still.

Brian woke up. He shifted onto his back, looking around the room. Finally, his eyes met Justin's. And in a moment, he remembered.

"Shit," he said, sitting up. "We—"

"Fucked," Justin said. "Without a condom." He stared at Brian, biting unconsciously on his thumbnail.

"Oh, shit," Brian said. "I was hoping…I was hoping that was just a really, really god-awful dream." He bit his lower lip.

"How could you do that? I mean…why did you have to sleep with Lindsay? What's wrong with me?" Justin heard the words coming from his own mouth. They sounded hurt.

"I was high. There was something else in that pot…she's not my type, Justin. For one thing, she's missing something kind of important." Brian massaged the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why I did it."

"You did it to prove a point," Justin said. "And you proved one. But not the one you wanted to. You proved you're a fucking idiot; a stubborn, proud idiot."

Brian didn't bother to defend himself. What could he say? Justin was right.

"What if you're positive? She could have it too. You…could have given it to each other." The words kept pouring out; Justin couldn't seem to stop them.

"I know that," Brian said. "I never do that. I mean…I've never done that before. Ever. Lindsay and I…Justin, please." Brian was pleading for him to understand. He didn't know why it mattered to him so much, but it did.

"What if…I mean, Brian…"

Brian ducked his head. Justin just stared at him for a long moment. He realized, suddenly, that Brian's shoulders were shaking. Was he crying?

Brian swiped his arm across his eyes, trying desperately not to cry. It all hit him at once, exactly what had happened earlier. He wanted to deny it, but it was there. It was practically staring him in the face. His stupidity.

Justin felt pity for him. He hadn't meant to do it; that was obvious. And he felt scared, and foolish, and so many other things. "Come here," Justin said, patting the floor next to him.

Brian shook his head.

"Fine," Justin said, and he crawled over to Brian. He wrapped his arms around the brunet and hung onto him for dear life. "It'll be okay, Brian," he whispered. "Whatever happens."

And he hoped it was true.

******

"The test results should be back by now," Brian said. He looked at Justin. "You want to come with me to get them?"

Justin nodded.

They walked to the clinic without speaking, their hands stuffed into their pockets. Both were thinking.

Justin knew that if Brian was positive, he'd have to get tested too. They'd only had sex half a dozen times, and all without incident, but he was still frightened. Even if it didn't make sense, he'd have to. And if he wasn't positive—well, Justin was going to jump his bones. Right away.

Brian was hoping he wasn't positive. Not for himself, really; but for Lindsay. She was scared too; she'd gone to get a test, but her results wouldn't come back for a few more days. And he and Justin hadn't had sex since he'd gotten tested; he knew the blond was scared he'd get it if Brian had it. So if he didn't have it, they were going to fuck all afternoon. He hadn't had sex since he and Lindsay had made their awful foray into heterosexual sex, and he was horny.

As usual, the clinic was crowded with people of every shape, size, age, and color. Brian pushed through the crowd. He lost Justin about halfway through, but kept walking. He'd find him, eventually.

There was a line to the window. The wait seemed to take forever. Behind him, a girl held a wailing baby; in front of him was a man who smelled absolutely horrible. Justin pushed in with him, ignoring the evil glare the girl gave him. He grabbed Brian's hand and squeezed it silently.

Both boys were grateful when they finally made it to the front. Brian pushed forward. "I'm here for my test results," he said. The woman behind the desk said, "Name?"

"Brian Kinney," he said. She rifled through a stack of papers. Brian felt tension deep in his stomach.

"Here," she said, handing him a sheet. He took it from her and scanned it. He moved away from the window, holding the paper out to Justin.

"Well?" Justin asked, looking nervous. He didn't try to take the sheet. He couldn't read anything on Brian's face. "Tell me!"

"I'm negative," he said, and his face cracked into a small smile. Justin looked at him, and his face split in a huge grin. Brian felt almost giddy with relief-he was alright. He hadn't given Lindsay anything. This little incident would fade into obscurity, never needing to be mentioned again.

"Thank god," Justin said, launching himself into Brian's arms. Brian dropped the paper to catch him, and the two stood in the middle of the crowded waiting room, holding each other. They were ignored by everyone around them; that was okay with them.

"And to celebrate," Brian said directly into his ear, "we're going back to the apartment, and we're gonna fuck. All afternoon." Brian's tongue snaked out and caught Justin's earlobe, making the blond jump.

"Sounds like a plan," Justin said back, and then he bent down and grabbed the paper. "Here."

"Throw it," Brian said impatiently. "Let's go." He grabbed Justin's hand and pulled him out of the clinic.

They barely made it back to the apartment before the celebration started.


	18. Testing

 

"I've got some good news," Lindsay said as she walked in the door, holding a crumpled sheet of paper.  "I'm negative too." 

"That's great!" Justin said, jumping up and giving her a hug.  She smiled at him.  

"Isn't that great, Brian?" Justin pushed.  
  
"Fabulous," Brian said snarkily, but he felt himself relax.  Good.  No HIV for any of them.  It was over, the whole thing.  He couldn't help but be grateful that nothing lasting would come out of this little foray into heterosexuality.                                                             

***** 

Brian woke to the sound of someone vomiting.  Behind him.  He nearly rolled over Justin in his attempt to get away. 

"What's going on?" Justin asked sleepily. 

"Lindsay's puking again.  What did you eat, Linds?" Brian asked. 

Lindsay groaned, wiping off her mouth with a bandana.  "Nothing," she said.  She turned away, and hurled again. 

"Sure looks like you ate something," Brian remarked.  

She moaned again. "I'm running out of plastic bags," she said.  She'd been throwing up into bags for the last ten minutes. 

"We'll go shopping and get some more," Brian said, poking Justin in the side.  "Now." 

Lindsay smiled weakly at him.  "Thanks," she said.  They had a small moment. 

It was broken when she turned and hurled again.  Justin stood up.  "Come on Brian.  We'll get you some ginger ale and crackers too," he promised Lindsay. 

The two teenagers walked out of the room and down the hallway.  Justin climbed out the window first, and started down the fire escape. He waited on the street for Brian.  They started walking out of the alley. 

"What do you think she has?" Brian asked.  "She's really sick in there." 

Justin had been thinking about that since he'd woken up this morning.  He didn't like what came to mind.  "I think…I think she might be pregnant, Brian." 

Brian stopped cold.  "What?" he said.  "That's impossible." 

Justin looked at him.  "Unprotected sex, Brian.  It causes babies." 

Brian stared back.  "Oh my god.  But she hasn't had unprotected sex with anyone except—" 

"You," Justin finished.   

Brian got deathly pale.  Justin felt a flash of fear for him. "Are you okay?"   He reached for the brunet, who to his surprise, allowed him to hold onto his arm. 

"If she's pregnant…that's my kid in there," Brian said. 

"Yeah," Justin replied.  "It is."  He kept watching Brian, who looked like he was considering falling over in a dead faint.  "Stay with me, Brian." 

Brian shook his arm off.  "I'm fine.  This is stupid.  I'm freaking myself out for no reason.  What are the chances, anyway?" 

"Well—" Justin started. 

"It was a hypothetical question," Brian said.  They continued walking. 

Justin couldn't help but think of how his mother had looked when she was pregnant with Molly.  She'd thrown up almost every morning for the first three months.  Justin wasn't exactly sure when someone would start to show, but he knew it wouldn't be soon, anyway.  

"Maybe we should buy one of those tests," he suggested as they rounded the corner onto the street with the store. 

"A test?" Brian asked. 

"You know.  A pregnancy test," Justin said.   

Brian stared down at him.  "This is a fucking weird conversation.  You know, I thought that being a queer would prevent a conversation like this from ever occurring." 

"It would have, if you hadn't decided to 'prove yourself'.  But you did."  The pair walked into the store.  "Now, come on." 

Brian let Justin drag him down a familiar aisle.  "This is the condom aisle, genius," he said sarcastically. 

"They keep the tests here too, Brian.  You know, so if one fails, you can grab the other."  He pulled him past the condom display and stopped him in front of the boxes of tests.  "Choose one." 

"Why do I have to choose one?" Brian asked. 

"This is your hypothetical kid we're talking about, Brian.  You get to choose the test."  Justin gave him a light shove towards the shelf.  "Go ahead, stud." Brian shot a deadly glare at Justin, who just shrugged.  "I'm going to go get a roll of plastic bags for Lindsay, and some ginger ale."  

He walked off before Brian thought to stop him. He stared at the little boxes.  Finally he grabbed one.  "First Response?  Good enough for me."  He held in gingerly, not completely sure what to do with it. 

Suddenly, Justin was there.  "Got one?  Come on, let's pay for this stuff and get back before she paints the whole place with puke." 

"Nice alliteration," Brian said weakly, following Justin to the cash register.  

The cashier was the same man as usual.  Was it all in Brian's head, or did his eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly at the pregnancy test?  Well, it didn't matter. Brian paid, and he and Justin took the bags.  

"Come on," he said.  They walked out of the store. "Do you know when she was supposed to…uh…have her period last?" Justin blushed at the question.  

Brian stared at him like he was nuts. "Why the hell would I know that?" he asked.   

Justin shrugged.  "Just curious," he said. They walked back, mostly silent, except for the occasional complaint from Brian that he should be sleeping  because he had to work tonight.  

"To pay for this lovely pregnancy test and ginger ale," he grumbled. 

"Stop whining," Justin said.  "Pull down the ladder." 

Brian pulled it down, and he and Justin climbed it, awkward because of their purchases. As they walked into the room, the smell of vomit assaulted their noses.  

"Gross," Justin said, wrinkling his nose.   

"Shut up," Brian said, although he agreed.  He walked over to Lindsay.  "Hey Linds…we brought you some stuff."  
  
"What?" she asked weakly. 

"Uh…Ginger ale, some more bags…and a….pregnancy test."  He bit his lip as her eyes met his.  "It was Justin's idea." 

She sat up, her eyes wide.  "Shit," she said.  "Give it here."   To Justin, it looked as though the idea hadn't occurred to her.  Had she really not thought she might be pregnant? He dug it out of the bag and handed it to her.  

She picked up some of the used bags and headed out of the room, towards the old bathroom facilities without saying another word. Justin sat heavily on the floor.  After a moment, Brian sat next to him.  Justin took his hand, and Brian allowed it.  

_He really must be nervous_ , Justin thought. _Although, who could blame him?_   Justin certainly wouldn't want a kid, especially not now.  Brian was only 17; Lindsay was a few months away from 18.   

The room was quiet; they listened to Ben and Michael's light snoring.  Michael wouldn't wake up for a few hours, and Ben wouldn't be up until night.  Brian had been sleeping, until Lindsay threw up all over the place.  Justin knew Brian needed to sleep.  Nothing would stop him from going out and 'working' tonight; he was really short of money. They hadn't seen Blake for days.  Brian had assumed it was due to all the crystal he was doing, but Justin wondered if he was okay.  He couldn't help but feel bad for the kid.  Ted was at class, of course.  And Em was in his corner, asleep/  

They heard footsteps.  Brian was holding his breath; he could tell Justin was too.  Lindsay walked into the room.  Her face was a mask. She held out the test.  

A blue plus sign stared out at them.   

"Oh shit," Brian said.   


	19. Decisions

Lindsay started to cry.  Brian stood up, on obviously shaky feet.  "Hey…hey.  It'll be okay."  He reached for her. 

She hit at him with her fists.  They thudded hard against his chest.  "You fucker!  This is your fault!"  Her voice was high, almost hysterical. 

"My fault?" Brian said.  "It takes two to tango, missy, and you're the one who isn't gay!"  His voice rose in volume.  "I didn't want to fuck you!" 

"You didn't complain any!" she screamed back.  "You got it up, didn't you?" 

Justin looked around.  He could see Ben and Michael looking over at them without any pretense.  But where…suddenly Emmett's head popped up, his eyes wide.  All of them were staring at Brian and Lindsay, whose fight was becoming louder by the second. 

"You're supposed to put on a fucking condom!" she said. 

"Oh, so that' my fault?  I forgot, and you didn't bother to remind me?  Well, if that's how you do it with johns, who's to say this baby's even mine?" Brian fired back. 

Ooh.  Direct hit.  Her eyes flared, and she lunged at him again.  "Why you—" 

"Stop it!" Justin said.  Everyone turned to look at him, surprised that he'd said something.   

"Excuse me?  This isn't your business," Lindsay said. 

"Screaming at each other won't help anything.   It's happened; you're pregnant. You have to decide what you're going to do about it."  Justin's voice was firm; someone had to keep their head around here. Lindsay and Brian looked flabbergasted, but Emmett smiled at the blond.  "You tell 'em, honey," he whispered. 

Out of nowhere, Lindsay practically crumpled to the floor, sobbing.  Brian stood over her, unsure of what to do.  Finally, he took a deep breath and knelt next to her. 

Justin stood up to give them some privacy, and walked towards Ben, Michael, and Emmett. 

"What's going on, sweetie?  Lindsay's pregnant?"  Emmett looked concerned. 

"Lindsay and Brian had sex?" Michael said, sounding half-surprised, half-disturbed. 

"Yes," Justin said.  "To both of them." 

"Without a condom?" Ben asked, his voice disbelieving. 

"Yeah.  They were stoned—I think it was laced with something else.  They've both been tested; no HIV or anything like that.  But…well, you know."  Justin swallowed hard.  

All four boys looked covertly to where Lindsay and Brian were huddled on the floor.  He was holding her now, and she was crying onto his shoulder. 

"Why did this happen, Brian?" Lindsay asked.  "I can't believe…it was just one time."  She sniffed hard. 

"What are we going to do?" Brian asked.  "Do you want a baby?"  
  
Lindsay sniffed again.  "I've wanted kids since I was old enough to play with Barbies, Brian.  But this…this is a real baby.  I mean, I'm only 17.  And I don't have a home.  My parents hate me, it's not like you and I are going to get married…I don't know what to do.  I mean, yes, I want it.  I do.  I just don't know how…"  She trailed off, sniffing loudly. 

"Well, if you want it, Linds, I'll help you.  However I can.  It's half mine, after all.  Half my fault, so half my responsibility."  He kissed her on the forehead.  "We've been friends for years, Linds.  We can handle this together.  We'll figure it out, somehow.  We have almost 9 months to come up with something." 

"Jesus," Lindsay said.  "Nine months.  Am I really going to be sick like this for 9 months?"  She almost laughed, but it was a hysterical, frightened laugh. 

"I don't know," Brian said.  They held onto each other, both lost in thought. 

The boys watched them.  "I don't think they're going to try to kill each other again," Ben said.   

"What do you think they're going to do?" Michael asked.  "I mean, they can't keep it, obviously." 

"They could, if they really wanted to," Ben said.  "People do it." 

"Not people like us," Emmett said.  "They're not even adults yet." 

"Lindsay will be halfway to 19 when the baby is born, and Brian will be 18 by then, if just barely," Justin pointed out.  "Legally, that won't be a problem." 

"Yeah, but are they gonna live here?  With a baby?  And it's gonna need shots, and diapers, and all kinds of stuff that they can't get here," Michael said.  "They don't have the money for that kind of stuff." 

"How about we not worry about the future until it gets here," Ben said. 

Justin stared at him.  "Well," he said after a moment, "now I know why Brian calls you 'Zen Ben.'" 

"He calls me 'Zen Ben?'" Ben asked, as Emmett and Michael snorted. 

"Okay, Brian," Lindsay said.  "We can handle this."  She yawned, looking suddenly exhausted. 

"Let's try to get some sleep.  I've got to work tonight," Brian said. 

Lindsay's eyes widened again.  "What about me?  How can I work if I'm pregnant?  No one's gonna want to pick me up once I start to show." 

Brian sighed.  "I only turn a couple tricks a night," he said, "but I could do more.  If I had to.  Let's not worry about it for now, hmm?" 

Emmett sighed.  "Well, I need my beauty sleep, so if you will excuse me…"  He crawled back into his little pile in the corner and put a ragged blanket over his head. 

"I might as well go out now," Michael said.  He kissed Ben, and stood up.  Ben rolled over, apparently to go back to sleep. 

Justin took the hint and walked back over to Brian and Lindsay, who were curled up together, quiet but not asleep.  "Is there room for me?" Justin asked quietly.  Brian patted the pile on his free side, and Justin lay back down, curling into Brian's chest. 

"We're going to keep it," Brian said into Justin's ear.  Justin looked at Brian; he looked tired. 

"Congrats, Dad," Justin whispered back, with a slight smile.  Brian rolled his eyes and pinched his backside.   

"Don't be a twat," he said. 

"Me?  Never," Justin said.  He shut his eyes. 

Brian sighed.  He had one arm around Lindsay and the other around Justin; when had his life gotten so damn crowded?  And now he was going to have a kid.  What on earth was he getting himself into?  

But it was too late to take it back now.  He'd told Lindsay it was up to her, and she wanted it.   Well, he'd better get some sleep.  He had to work, and much sooner than he wanted to.


	20. Think About It

Lindsay lay flat on her back.  She was breathing kind of heavily. 

"What are you doing, Linds?" Brian asked.  

"Trying…to zip up…my skirt," she said.  It finally zipped together, and she got to her feet, panting slightly. 

"Getting fat?" Brian asked.  She glared at him. 

"I think it's starting to show," she said. 

"No way.  We only found out…" 

"Three months ago," Lindsay said.  She turned so her side was facing Brian.  "Can you tell?"  
  
He studied her belly critically.  She didn't look pregnant; she just looked…a little chubby. "You look like you gained a few pounds," he said.  Lindsay glared at him, but he shrugged.  "It's true, Linds.  Really." 

"Well, I suppose a fat hooker is slightly better than a pregnant one," she said after a moment.  She pulled a halter top on, and said, "Well, I'm going." 

"Don't you think it's time you stop this?  I can…start taking more tricks tonight."  Brian hid the disgust he felt at those words.  He was worried she, or the baby, would get hurt. 

"Soon," Lindsay said.  "But I'm going to earn my keep until then.  Besides, we're both getting to that age where it isn't just pervs who are picking us up anymore.  We look like we're adults now, Brian.  To take big bucks, you have to look like Justin.  Fresh faced like you're barely into puberty.  Face it, we're on the way out for the good money.  Now—now we'll get 40 bucks for them to fuck us and 20 for a blowjob, because we aren't fresh and young anymore."  Lindsay sounded jaded. 

"I'll always be fresh and young and beautiful," Brian defended.  "It's my right; hell, I'm not even 18 yet!" 

"Doesn't matter.  The guys who like us young; they like us REALLY young." 

"Mikey and Justin should be back soon," Brian said, changing the subject. 

"I think it's sweet they're working together," Lindsay said, allowing it. "You know, Justin's got a pretty good voice." 

"Yeah, well…you country club kids get it all.  Voice lessons, ballet…" 

"STD's, brutal beatings.  Once we hit New York, the score evened out, Brian," Lindsay said.  "And we left for some of the same reasons you did, you know." 

Brian had to admit it was true.  "They make a pretty good cut from whatever they're doing in the train station.  I don't know how the hell Mikey managed to get a busker's license, but—" 

"That's Justin's doing.  He's an artist, you know," Lindsay said.  "He just created one for them.  And they haven't had any trouble with it, either."  She smiled at Brian, and then left. 

Brian really wanted to shower, but the water in this building was really iffy.  Sometimes it worked, occasionally it was even warm, but sometimes it wasn't.  It was getting closer to spring, but it was pretty damn cold in the apartment even now.  He decided to skip the shower, and the possible accompanying shivering, for now.  He put on another layer of deodorant, and some cheap cologne.  He hated the stuff.  He decided if he ever made real money, he'd never, ever wear anything cheap, ever again. 

"You almost ready, sweetie?" Emmett asked, walking towards Brian. 

"Yeah.  Almost.  Ben?" Brian asked. 

"Yeah.  I'd like to see Michael for a moment before heading out," Ben said.   The three teens made last-minute preparations, checking pockets for lube and condoms.  Finally, there were footsteps in the hallway. 

"Brian?" Justin's voice floated into the room. 

"Yeah," Brian said, re-counting the condoms in his pocket.   

"Look at how much we made today!"  Justin flashed an impressive wad of cash at him. 

"Holy shit; what'd you do for that?" Brian asked. 

"Just opened my mouth," Justin replied, leaning into Brian's chest.   

Brian kissed him before replying, "You better be talking about singing, twat." 

"I have no idea what you're implying, sir," Justin teased, his face turning red.  He dropped to his knees in front of Brian. 

"Save it," Emmett said.  "You've got to be 'up' all night."  His voice was incongruous to his looks, which were all feminine wiles. 

"Yes sir," Justin snarked.  He stood again and kissed Brian.  "Later," he said. 

"Later," Brian replied.  He and Emmett walked out the door, followed closely by Ben. 

Michael sat on the floor, and held out a plastic shopping bag.  "Half of this is yours," Michael said. 

"It wasn't as awful as I thought it would be," Justin said.  "I mean…it was a little gross, but if I shut my eyes and pretended it was Brian…"  He let his voice trail off. 

"Yeah, well…I'm just glad that we aren't coming home empty-handed for the sixth day in a row.  And we have food that isn't being bought by Brian or Ben," Michael said.  "But yeah, it was gross, wasn't it?" The boys looked at each other for a moment.  

"Whatever.  We won't do it again," Justin said after a second.  "It was just for today.  That's it." 

To tell the truth, they both felt dirty.  The physical act hadn't been all that difficult; both Justin and Michael had given head before.  But to their lovers, not to some random guy on the way home from work.  Justin couldn't remember the guy's face, but he kept hearing his low grunts, feeling the fingers pulling at his long, blond hair, and how filthy he'd felt as the man stuffed the money into his pocket.  Forty bucks.   They ate their sandwiches frantically, trying to erase the memories of earlier in the day.  The farther away they were from actually doing it, the worse the memories got.   

"How do they do this?" Michael said after a moment.  "I mean…god, I feel so gross.  And it was just head.  But Ben, and Brian, Lindsay, Emmett…they do this stuff all the time.  And they don't complain about how gross it is, and how dirty you feel." 

"Maybe they're used to it," Justin suggested. 

"How do you get used to it?" Michael asked.  "There's no way—" 

"Do it enough, and it won't matter anymore," Justin said.  

"I guess." Michael looked Justin directly in the eyes.  "I never, ever want to do it enough that it doesn't matter.  I wish that…that Ben and Brian and Linds and Em didn't have to either."   

Justin looked away.  He grabbed his backpack and started digging through it.  Suddenly, he stopped. "Do you ever miss home?" Justin asked, switching the subject.  

Michael looked at him, a crease in his forehead.   "Huh?" he said. 

"Am I speaking English?  Don't you ever miss home?"  Justin pulled out a small, framed photograph from his bag, and held it in his hands.  

Michael leaned over it, trying to see.  "Who's that?" he asked. "My mom, and my sister, Mollusk," Justin said, studying their faces.  "We were at Disneyworld." 

"I've never been there," Michael said.  He looked closer.  "You miss them, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," Justin said.  "Don't you miss your family?" 

"I really miss my Mom, and my uncle Vic.  I ran away after Brian left; he'd called once, and told me he was living around here, in New York."  
  
"Just like that?" Justin asked, unbelieving. 

"No.  My mom's boyfriend…he's an asshole.  He hit me, a lot.  Mom was at work, at the Diner, and he came home, drunk, and basically beat the hell out of me.  So I ran here.  And I found Brian; he'd stayed in this neighborhood.  He really let me have it, but you know how he is."  Michael smiled.  "He introduced me to Ben too…" 

"Does your Mom know you're okay?" Justin asked. 

"I don't know," Michael said.  

"You should call her; tell her you're alright," Justin said. 

"You sound like Brian," Michael said. 

"What would it hurt?" Justin asked. 

The boys sat there in silence, thinking.  

Finally, Michael said, "Well…I'll think about it."


	21. Chicken

"Come on; I've been good for you before," Brian said, not exactly pleading, but exasperated. 

"No offense, but you're getting a little old for my tastes," the man said.  "And there's this hot little blond who works the train station with his friend…"  The man pushed past him, and walked into said station. 

"Pervs, looking for little chickens…jeez, I've never been too old before," he complained under his breath.  

Suddenly, the man's words hit him, and Brian paused.  "Hot little blond?" he said to himself.  With a friend…that sounded like…but Justin wouldn't do that kind of thing, would he? 

It was almost 8 am; Justin was probably out already.  He thought he was a busker, though, not hustling.  Well… 

Brian walked down into the station, bought a metro card, and entered the main platforms.  Mikey was sitting on the floor, his guitar cradled in his lap.  Brian walked over to him. 

"Hey Mikey, where's Justin?" he asked.   Michael looked surprised to see him.  

"Brian?  What are you doing here?" 

"Looking for some business," Brian said.  "Where's Justin?" 

Michael looked like a bug trapped behind glass.  The suspicion climbed higher, until it was in Brian's throat.  "Mikey?" he said. 

"He uh…went to the bathroom," Michael said after a moment.  Brian turned and started towards the restrooms. 

"Hey!  Where are you going!" Michael called after him, feeling nervous.   

"Bathroom," Brian said.   He knew the station well, and slipped quickly into the bathroom.  

He heard familiar noises.  Grunts.  Groans.  Sex noises. As much as he wanted to burst into that stall and grab Justin, he couldn't.  So he stood in front of the mirror, listening in horrified fascination.  Surely…he wasn't really doing this, was he? 

The man came loudly.  Brian heard spitting in the toilet; he hadn't swallowed, Brian noted clinically.  The door opened, and a man came out. The same man who'd turned him down upstairs.  He shrugged at Brian and left. 

Brian waited, praying to no one in particular that Justin wouldn't come out of that door. 

He did.  When he saw Brian, he startled.  "You scared me!" he said.  Justin walked over to the sink and washed his hands, rinsing out his mouth. 

"You're turning tricks now?" Brian asked. 

"What?  No—" Justin said. 

"Don't lie to me, Justin," Brian said.  "I'm not an idiot."  He stared down the blond.  Finally, those blue eyes dropped. 

"Why?" Brian asked. 

"I don't need you to take care of me, Brian," Justin said quietly.  "I can do it just as easily as you, and especially now that you have to take care of Lindsay too…it's not that bad." 

Brian wanted to shake the blond boy, to smack him, to tell him he was an idiot.  "How long have you been doing this?" he asked. 

"Since right before…Lindsay stopped," Justin said. 

"So nearly a month.  You let them fuck you too?" he asked. 

"No!"  Justin looked hurt.  "It's just a blowjob, Brian.  It's not a big deal.  Even Michael—"  Justin cut himself off, but the damage was already done. 

"You both are doing it?" Brian said, disbelieving.  He shook his head.  "You have to stop.  What's wrong with fucking busking?"  
  
"It doesn't make money, Brian.  We aren't any good; no one pays us anything.  But this—this, they'll pay for."  He bit his thumbnail nervously.  "I only do a couple a day.  And I come back with a hundred and twenty bucks.  For head."  His eyes pleaded with Brian to understand. 

"Let's go back to the apartment," Brian said.  

Justin hesitated.  "Please," Brian added. Finally, the blond teen nodded.  

"All right.  Let's get Michael too." Brian grabbed Justin's hand and nearly pulled him out of the bathroom, marching towards an extremely frightened looking Michael.  "Come on Mikey," Brian said.  "Let's go home." 

Michael put his guitar in his case, trying to have a wordless conversation with Justin at the same time. 

"Pay attention to what you're doing," Brian barked.  "Let's go." 

Michael finished putting his guitar away and picked it up.  "All right," he said. 

Brian practically yanked Justin through the ticket counters and out onto the street, with Michael on their heels.   The walk back to the apartment seemed to take almost no time at all.  

Brian pulled the ladder down for them, and they started climbing.  Brian was almost in the window when he heard a desperate voice call his name. 

"Brian!" Emmett cried.  "Brian, help!" 

Brian swung around, and very nearly fell off the ladder.  Emmett was alone and covered in blood, tears running down his face.  Brian nearly slid down the ladder. 

"Emmett!  Are you okay?  What happened?" he cried, running towards the blood-covered teenager. 

"I'm fine," Emmett cried, his voice cracking.  "I'm fine.  But Brian—" 

"What happened?" Brian yelled again, grabbing Emmett's shoulders. 

"Brian, it's Ben!"


	22. Praying

"What?"  Michael heard Ben's name and popped back out the window.  When he saw Emmett, he gasped and turned white.  "Oh my god, what happened to Ben?" 

Brian grabbed Emmett and steadied him, demanding "Where is he?  You didn't leave him alone, did you?" 

"No!  Lindsay's with him.  But she's not a lot of help!  Come on!"  Emmett cried.  His voice was clogged with tears.  "I'm scared that…"  He couldn't finish the sentence. 

Justin heard the commotion outside and stuck his head out the window.  He saw Emmett and felt faint.  "What happened?" 

"Come on!  I need your help!" Emmett's voice cracked again.  

Suddenly, the boys sprang into action.  Michael was the first one down the ladder, followed closely by Justin. Emmett started running, and the other three chased after him.  

They could hear Emmett wheezing.  Justin was terrified—what had happened?  No one was telling him anything. 

Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been so frightened.  Emmett was covered in blood, crying about Ben.  Was he dead?  What was going on? 

They rounded the corner, and suddenly Emmett stopped.  The other three all saw Ben at the same time.  They gasped. He was curled on the pavement, covered in blood.  Lindsay knelt over him, holding a jacket against his stomach.  After a moment, the boys realized that she was trying to stop the bleeding.  

Michael ran to him. "Ben!" he sobbed.  "Ben!" Ben moaned as Michael dropped to his knees at his side.  

"Michael?" he whispered weakly. 

"It's me," Michael said.  Lindsay kept holding the jacket to his stomach.  Tears were sliding down her cheeks.  "Did someone call an ambulance?" 

Stark silence met his words, and Michael spared an upward glance of dismay.  "Do something!" he screamed. 

Suddenly, Justin startled into action.  "I'll call," he said, and ran down the block towards a payphone, leaving behind the dreadful scene. 

"The cops—" Brian said, not sure of where he was going with his protest. 

"I'm not going to let him die," Michael said.  He pushed Ben's hair off of his face.  "Hang on, baby," he whispered. Brian looked at them and shook his head.  Michael was right; if they didn't call an ambulance, he would likely die.  All that blood…suddenly, Brian gagged.  He turned away. 

Down the street, he saw Justin on the payphone.  He started to run towards him. 

"Yes.  Please, hurry!  He's bleeding so much," Justin cried as Brian ran up to him.  "They're coming," Justin said.  He hung up the phone suddenly, and started sobbing. 

"Hey, hey," Brian said.  He hated this; the helplessness.  He reached for Justin and pulled him into his arms.  "It's going to be okay."  Brian hoped it would be true. 

"No!" Justin sobbed.  "It's not okay.  It hasn't been okay…"  His tears were soaking into Brian's shirt.   Brian swallowed hard, and sniffed.  _Obviously, tears were contagious_ , he thought.  He knew Justin wasn't just talking about today, although it was bad enough.  

"Hey, come on," he said.  "Let's go back to them." Justin pulled away from Brian, and took his hand.  Brian considered protesting, but then decided that he didn't really care.  

"Alright," Justin whispered. The pair walked back to the group.  

"I need something else," Lindsay said desperately.  "Someone, give me something."  Her hands were covered in Ben's blood where it had soaked through the jacket. 

Justin looked at her for a second, and then stripped off his sweatshirt and tossed it at her.  She pressed it against Ben's stomach.  The blood began to stain the pale gray material. 

Justin shivered, and Brian put his arm around him.  They didn't speak, standing a vigil over Ben.  Michael's quiet sobs and Ben's shallow breathing were the only sounds. 

Finally, sirens broke through their self-imposed silence.  Emmett took a deep breath.  "No one's told Teddy," he said.   

"If you want to, you better run now," Brian said.  "Once the cops get here, they aren't going to let you go." 

Emmett nodded.  He turned and started running.  Justin watched him until he disappeared around the corner. The sirens got louder.  Brian turned, and watched as the ambulance drove up the street.  

It pulled to a hasty stop at the curb and two men jumped out.  "Are you the ones who called 911?" one of the men called. 

"Yes.  Help us, please!" Michael cried, looking up.  All four teens watched as the men efficiently pulled the stretcher from the back of the ambulance and brought it to where Ben was lying on the ground. 

"What happened?" one of the men asked as they loaded him onto the stretcher.  Lindsay just shook her head, and the EMT's didn't push. They quickly loaded him into the ambulance.  Michael ran after them.  

"Let me come with," he cried. 

"Only family's allowed—" the other EMT told them. 

"He's our brother," Brian said quickly.  Michael nodded. The EMT looked at them both, and crisply nodded.  "Hurry up," he said. Michael scrambled awkwardly into the ambulance, reaching for Ben's still hand.  

"What hospital?" Brian asked, averting his eyes.  

Justin walked over to Lindsay, who was still holding the bloody jacket. "He'll be okay," Justin echoed Brian's words, trying to comfort her.  She shook her head, holding up one sticky, blood-stained hand. 

"I don't know," she whispered.  "They…he was stabbed, Justin.  And…oh god."  She sniffed hard.  "Emmett and I heard him screaming, and we...  There were two of them.  They were…I thought they'd just rape him and leave him, but one of the men…Oh, god, Justin.  He had a knife."  The last words barely squeaked out before she was overcome by tears.   Justin hugged her tightly, not knowing what to say.  How could this happen?  Who would do something like this?  But he knew; hell, it could be the same two guys who'd hurt Brian.  All that separated Ben and Brian was a little bit of luck, or a lack thereof. 

Brian jogged over to them.  "Come on.  We have to get to the hospital before the cops show.  I'm surprised they aren't here yet." 

The ambulance turned on its sirens, and then it was gone.  Lindsay nodded.  "Okay then," she said, trying not to think about Ben, about the attack, about anything.  "Let's go." 

Brian started to run.  "Come on!" he cried over his shoulder.  The other two tore after him, both praying that Ben would be okay.


	23. Call Mom

 

Michael sat in the waiting room, his knees curled to his chest, crying silently. They'd taken Ben into surgery, and left him helpless.  He couldn't really tell them anything, except that Ben had no allergies that he knew of, and that his last name was Bruckner.  He hadn't even known how he'd been injured, although he could guess.  He didn't like any of his guesses.   

 Suddenly, he heard a commotion.  He looked up, and saw a gasping Brian, Lindsay, and Justin burst through the door.  He jumped up.  "Over here!" he cried, his voice cracking. He waved one hand, which still had Ben's blood on it. 

Brian reached him first, and wrapped him in a hug.  "It's gonna be okay, Mikey," he said, holding him tightly.  "He'll be okay.  He's a tough guy." 

Michael sniffed, hanging onto Brian desperately.  Justin and Lindsay hung back awkwardly, witnessing this moment between the friends.  After a moment, Lindsay whispered, "I'm going to find a bathroom," and turned, walking quickly, her high heels clicking against the floor.  Justin wished he too could bail, but held his ground. 

Suddenly, a nurse came up to them.  "Are you here with Benjamin Bruckner?" she asked, looking over the ragged teenagers. 

"Yes, that's us," Justin said, since Michael was crying into Brian's shoulder. 

"We need to get ahold of a parent or guardian," she said.  "Do you have someone?"  She studied the motley group suspiciously.  She'd been a nurse here for a long time; she knew what homeless teenagers looked like. 

Michael looked up at Brian.  They stared at each other for a long moment, having a conversation with their eyes.  Finally, Michael nodded and looked at the nurse. "I'll call Mom," he said  

Michael looked at Brian.  "How do I call her, anyway?  Do you have some change?" 

"Call collect," Justin said.  Both boys stared at him.  He shrugged.  "What?  You think she's gonna say no?" 

Michael's eyebrows raised.  "Good point," he said.  He looked at the nurse.  "Where's a phone?" 

She pointed him down a hallway, but he hesitated.  She watched him suspiciously.  "You better have her call the desk," she said.  She grabbed a card out of her front pocket and scribbled a number on it.  "Here's the number.  Have her ask for Tania."   

Michael took the card from her.  He looked at Brian again. "Do it, man.  I've been trying to get you to call her for weeks now," Brian said. 

"YOU should call her," Michael said as Tania walked off. 

"Your mom.  Your problem.  Plus, you know if I call her, she's gonna want to talk to you."  Brian smirked.  "I'm not taking YOUR smack upside the head, 'cause it's gonna be a doozy this time." 

"You are soooo helpful," Michael said, but he finally walked off. 

"He looks like a puppy who's been smacked by a newspaper," Justin commented. 

"He always looks like that," Brian replied. 

"Yeah, I know," Justin said.  "But sometimes he's a happy puppy, at least." 

"Is he a 'happy puppy' when the two of you are turning tricks?" Brian asked snidely.  Justin stiffened.  He hadn't thought about that all morning, but obviously Brian hadn't forgotten. 

"We aren't—" 

"Don't fucking lie to me," Brian said.  "I'm not a moron.  I've been doing this longer than you by a long time."  He looked down at the blond, who was unable to meet his eyes.  "Exactly." 

"Listen, Brian, you don't get it."  Brian glared at him until he amended, "Well, you don't…I mean…we tried begging, and we tried busking.  It didn't work.  No one cared, no one gave us money.  I think we got fifty cents once; that's about it.  But then this guy came up to me and asked…he asked us to fuck each other and let him watch." 

"What!" Brian yelled. 

"We didn't!" Justin said quickly, seeing a murderous glint in his eye.  "God, that's just gross, Brian!  But...he offered me fifty bucks for head, and…"  Justin bit at his thumbnail. 

"And you took it," Brian replied. 

"Well, yeah," Justin said.  "Wouldn't you?  It wasn't that bad.  It was just sex."  But despite his words, he didn't look at Brian's face. 

"Yeah, I would take it.  But I'm a hustler, Justin.  You—you aren't." 

"I guess I am now," he said. Brian sighed.  

"You don't have to be," he said. 

"Neither do you!" Justin said back.   

"What are you looking at?"  Brian glared at an older woman sitting a few seats away, and Justin suddenly realized that their volume had steadily risen.  He hung his head, feeling ashamed. 

"You're embarrassed to talk about it, but you can do it?" Brian said, noticing.  "You don't even know her." 

Justin just shrugged.  "I don't know, Brian." Both boys sighed.  

"Where the fuck is Mikey?" Brian said, looking around. 

"And Lindsay," Justin said.  "She said she was going to find a bathroom." 

Michael came around the corner.  "Looks like he got the newspaper," Brian said.  It took Justin a second to remember, but then he smiled. 

"What's going on, Mikey?" Brian asked. 

"Mom answered.  She's coming." Brian and Justin both jumped out of their seats.  

"What?" Brian asked. 

"Her boyfriend's gonna bring her," Michael said. 

"The one who beat you up?" Justin asked. 

"No, a new guy.  Apparently, after I ran, she kicked his ass.  That's how she met Carl, I guess." 

"I'm not following, Mikey." 

"She called the cops to arrest him, and Carl showed up," Michael said.  "He's a cop." 

"Your mom's dating a cop?" Justin said.  

 "They're coming here?  He'll arrest us!" Brian said over Justin's question. 

"No, he won't.  Relax, Brian.  You know Ma won't let him arrest us.  She's gonna take us home." 

"Home?"  Brian said the word like it was foreign. 

"You'll be eighteen soon; you can just live with us!" Michael said.  "It'll be fine." 

"And until then?" Brian asked.  "What about until them?  I can't go back to my "home" Michael.  My dad will murder me."  He was angry; Michael never thought. 

"They won't even know you're back, Brian," Michael said.  "Ma will let you stay, just like she always does.  Stop being such a drama queen!" 

Brian thought for a second.  "You better be right," he said finally.  "Because if you're wrong, I WILL tell her about your little foray into hustler-land, you got me?" 

Michael swallowed hard.  "I don't—" 

"Save it Mikey," Brian said.   

"Fine.  I got it.  But you're worrying about nothing." 

"What?"  Lindsay said.  All three boys jumped. 

"Ma's coming to get us, Lindsay," Michael said.  

Lindsay looked shocked.  She swallowed.   "What about me?" she asked.  "I don't...I can't do this alone."  She ran her hand over her lightly swollen belly, biting her lip. 

"You're coming with.  Hell, we'll bring the whole family," Brian said, making a grand gesture with his arms. 

Michael looked at him.  "Yeah," he said after a second.  "We will." And he was so sincere that even Brian couldn't do anything except sigh and shake his head.


	24. Family

 

The teenagers stayed in the waiting room, quiet except for the occasional sigh or snort from Brian.  Justin was curled up in a chair, his knees against his chest, his head lolling on Brian's shoulder, trying to sleep.  Michael was pacing back and forth, obviously worried about Ben.  Lindsay was wringing her hands, sitting helpless.  And Brian sat still, thinking. 

He didn't have to go home with Debbie.  He could split right now, run for it.  They'd never find him; he was too smart for them.   

But…he had a responsibility towards Lindsay and that baby in her stomach.  He knew it.  And even deeper inside, he knew that he couldn't just leave Justin to fend for himself.  He wouldn't just go with Debbie; he didn't know her, after all. And he wouldn't last out here, not by himself. Not a boy who looked so damn young, and so damn pretty.  

A nurse approached the small group.  "You're here with Ben Bruckner?" she said. 

"He's our brother," Brian lied easily, afraid that Michael might forget their little story in his worry. 

"Where's your mother?" the nurse asked.   "She's on the way.  Mikey called her hours ago," Brian said.   

"How's Ben?" Michael asked.  "Please, is he alright?" 

The nurse looked at them sympathetically.  "He's out of surgery, and in stable condition," she said. 

"Can we see him?" Michael asked. 

"He's still in recovery, right now," she replied.  "He needs to be settled into a room.  And it isn't visiting hours." 

"Please!" Michael begged.  "We're so worried about him." 

"He's just going to be sleeping; you can't wake him up.  I'll let you peek in the window, but that's it," she said.  Michael nodded, obviously dissatisfied, but not wanting to piss off the person who decided whether or not they could visit Ben. She looked at them suspiciously.  

"You aren't all siblings," she said. 

"We're cousins," Lindsay said, gesturing at Justin and herself.  "Aunt Debbie's on her way." 

The nurse nodded and smiled at them before walking back over to the nurses' station. 

"You do realize if we were cousins, our child would be a product of incest, don't you?" Brian asked in an undertone.  Lindsay smacked his free shoulder. 

"You're so gross, Brian!" she said.   

"Well, this entire situation is a bit gross.  Because that means I've slept with both my cousins, and one of my cousins is having my baby." 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" A familiar voice said over his shoulder.  

Brian and Michael both whirled around. "Ma!" Michael said.   
  
After a great deal of hugging (and quite a few smacks upside the head) Debbie let go of Michael.  It was only then that everyone noticed the man standing next to her. 

"Oh!  Everyone, this is Carl Horvath.  He's my beau."  She grinned at him, snapping her gum affectionately.  "Carl, this is my son Michael—" 

"And your son Brian," Brian said, "and your niece, Lindsay and your nephew, Justin." 

Debbie raised her eyebrows.  "Right," she said after a moment.  Carl observed it all without saying anything.  Finally, he nodded and offered a shy smile. 

"How's Ben doing?" Debbie asked.  "Any word?" 

"He's out of surgery and in stable condition," Brian said. "Yeah, but we can't see him yet.  Oh…he's your son, also," Brian added belatedly. Debbie nodded, not phased.  

"Okay.  Well, I better go see how my son's doing."  She turned and marched to the nurses' station, with Carl trailing her. Michael looked at the other three teenagers.  

"She's taking this well," he said.  "Considering.  Except that my head kind of hurts." 

"It's just gotten soft," Brian said.  Michael glared at him, and he shrugged.  "I mean, from her not hitting you all the time." 

"I'm sure that's what you meant," Michael said. 

"Of course it is, sweetie," someone said from behind them. 

"Emmett!  Ted, Blake.  You guys are okay?" Lindsay asked, looking over all three boys.   They nodded.  Blake looked pretty jittery, and Ted looked exhausted, but Emmett seemed okay.  He was dressed like a boy, now, his hair tied back in a low ponytail, wearing jeans and sneakers.  Sometime between now and the last time they'd seen him, he'd washed the blood off his hands and arms. 

"Ma's here," Michael said.  "Along with her new 'beau.'"  He smiled slightly, to let them know the teasing was in good fun.  "Bet he didn't expect to be driving a fucking zoo back to Pittsburgh." 

"I can't say I did," Carl said.  The entire group jumped. 

"How did you sneak up on us?" Emmett asked, his hand against his heart. 

"We'll rent a car to get you all home.  She told me about her son, Michael, and his best friend, Brian…but she didn't mention the rest of you." The teens looked at each other for a long moment.  

"We're not all hers," Justin offered after a moment. 

"I figured," Carl said.  "Where are you all from?" 

"Pittsburgh," they all chimed, except for Emmett, who drawled out, "Hazlehurst, Mississippi." 

"Really?" he asked.  They all nodded.  He sighed and raised his eyebrows. "Guess we're renting a minivan," he said. 

"What?" Michael asked, not following. 

"You don't really think Deb's going to leave any of you behind," Carl said.  "She'd have my…she'd kill me if I even suggested it." 

"What about me?" Emmett asked.  His face was blank; Brian could tell he was steeling himself for rejection. 

"You're coming too," Carl said.  "You're from Pittsburgh too.  Right?" Emmett nodded after a moment.  

"Right," he said, catching on. 

Debbie burst through the group.  "Okay guys.  We're going to see Ben, and then we'll find a hotel." 

"A hotel?" several voices chimed. 

"Well, they aren't going to transfer him to a Pitts hospital until tomorrow, at least," Debbie said.  "And I am not sleeping in a fucking plastic chair." Brian nodded.  "Alright then.  Let's go." 

And the entire group shuffled down the hallway and into an elevator, with Debbie fussing over them all like a mother hen and Carl good-naturedly shaking his head. 

"Family's nice," Michael said, looking around and saying what they all had been thinking, more or less. Surprisingly, it was Brian who answered first.  

"Yeah," he said.  "It really is."


	25. Hotel

They walked to the nurses' station.  One of the nurses pointed them down the hallway, warning them, "Don't wake him.  You can look through the window." 

They all hurried down the hallway.  Michael was the first to the window, pressing his face against it like a kid in a candy store.  

"He's sleeping," he said. 

"Oh, poor kid," Debbie said, seeing the bruised teenager for the first time.  "He's a mess."  She looked at all the bruises on his face, and felt a jolt of anger. 

"He'll be okay, though," someone said behind them.  They turned to see an unfamiliar nurse.  "The surgery went very well; they didn't get any vital organs somehow.  He's really a very lucky boy." The nurse kept walking.  

Everyone stood there, vying for a place where they could see him.  Finally, Debbie said, "Alright, you guys.  Let's go."  She made shooing motions at them.  "We're going to find a hotel and get some sleep.  And tomorrow, Carl and I will make arrangements to get Ben back to Pittsburgh, and we'll bring you guys back too." 

She sighed.  "Now, the question is, how are we going to get 7 teenagers to a hotel?" 

**** 

It took two trips, but they all ended up at a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of the city.  They rented two rooms.  Debbie protested when Carl pulled out his credit card, but he said, "Just let me do this for you," and paid before she could stop him. The plan had been for two or three of them to stay in the same room as Carl and Debbie, but they all piled into the free room.    
  
"There's a whole 'nother bed in here," Debbie said, ignoring both her son and her boyfriend's blushing. 

"We're used to it," Lindsay said.  "We'll stay in here."  She smiled at Debbie and Carl before walking inside, and shutting the door. 

"I call first shower," Lindsay said. 

"Already taken," Brian and Justin said.  Justin blushed, but Brian just grinned.   

"Fine.  I get second.  And you'd better wash all the cum down the drain; I don't want to step in that.  You hear me?" 

Emmett, Ted, and Michael laughed as Brian grabbed Justin's hand and yanked him into the bathroom.  They didn't notice that Blake was pacing wildly; the high from his last hit of crystal hadn't worn off yet and he was wired. 

"It will be nice to take a shower," Emmett said.  "A real one, with hot water and soap and stuff.  I mean…that pathetic excuse for a shower in the apartment doesn't even have HOT water." 

"Preaching to the choir, Em," Ted said.  "If I didn't have to go to class, I'd skip the shower all together." 

"Wait a second," Emmett said, suddenly realizing something.  "You're coming home with us?  What about school?" 

Ted shrugged.  "I'll transfer to a college in the Pitts.  I considered going to Carnegie Mellon, but they didn't uh…well, the scholarship to NYU was better.  But I don't want to be out here alone.  And at least in the Pitts, I can afford a real apartment with hot running water." 

* 

In the bathroom, Justin and Brian had undressed quickly and gotten into the shower.  Justin let out a little moan of pleasure as the hot water cascaded over his bare back. 

"I haven't even touched you yet!" Brian said.   

"Yeah, but this water feels soooo good," Justin said, letting it run over his hair.  

Brian smirked and pushed Justin against the wall, dropping to his knees.  Justin got hard at the sight. 

"So does this," Brian whispered, and engulfed his cock.  

Justin groaned, throwing his head back. "Oh, yeah," he moaned. 

* 

"Are you okay, Blake?" Ted asked, watching the younger boy pace back and forth frantically. 

"I'm fine," he said.  He took a gasping breath or two.  "I'm just gonna…uh, go for a walk."  He practically bolted from the room, the door slamming behind him.  

Ted and Emmett looked at each other. "Think he'll come back?" Emmett asked. 

Ted shook his head sadly.  "I don't know," he said. 

*

 "Oh God, Brian…oh yeah."  Justin panted frantically as Brian pushed into him, thrusting harder against him.  "Oh!"   

Brian hit his prostate, and Justin let out a scream.  Brian grinned and did it again.  And again.  And then they both were coming, Justin screaming his pleasure, Brian groaning into Justin's back.

Brian pulled free and tied off the condom.  He leaned down slightly and pulled Justin into a scorching kiss. Suddenly, there was thumping on the wall.  

"You better be playing safe, you little fuckers!" Debbie's voice floated through the wall. Brian just laughed, but Justin nearly turned purple with embarrassment.  

It only worsened when Brian yelled back, "We are, Deb.  Don't worry." 

"Good boys," she called back.  Justin covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. 

* 

"They should make porn," Emmett said.  "I'd buy it." 

"You wouldn't," Ted said.  "You wouldn't really want to watch Brian—" 

"Sure I would," Emmett said.  "It sounds hot from here." 

"We are not really having this conversation, are we?" Lindsay asked. 

"I'm afraid we are," Ted said. 

"We're finished," Brian said, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his clothing draped over his arm.  Justin followed him, looking a little embarrassed to be half-naked in front of his friends.   

 "Don't be embarrassed," Emmett said.  "We all heard you fucking mere moments ago; seeing you naked isn't exactly—" 

"Oh my God," Justin said, ducking his head.  "Please tell me—" 

"The whole floor heard you, sweetie.  Don't be embarrassed.  It was hot."  Emmett winked at Justin, who turned purple all the way to his ears. "Anyway, if you think we didn't hear you in the apartment…you thought wrong." 

Lindsay stood up.  "Well, it's my turn.  And that shower had better be clean."  She turned and marched into the bathroom.  The shower turned on a moment later. 

Justin quickly pulled on his underwear and jeans and plopped onto the bed.  A few seconds later, Brian took a flying leap and landed next to him.  He rolled on top of him and started kissing him.  Justin kissed him back. 

"Oh, come on you two.  Haven't you had enough?" Michael asked, shaking his head. 

"Never enough," Brian replied between kisses.  "You know that Mikey." 

"I take it back," Emmett said.  "I wouldn't buy this porn." 

"What?" Justin said, shoving Brian off of him.  "You're making porn?" The other boys laughed at the look on his face.  

"No.  Never mind," Emmett said.   

"You don't want to know," Ted added. Justin looked at Brian suspiciously.  

"You better not have—" 

"Where would I get a video camera?" Brian pointed out reasonably.  Justin thought about it for a moment. 

"Well…okay."  But then, Justin turned around and curled up, shutting his eyes. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Brian asked, frustrated. 

"Going to sleep," Justin said sweetly.  "Feel free to join me." 

Michael, Ted and Emmett laughed.  Brian muttered something under his breath and smacked Justin's hip with his hand.  "Twat," he said, loudly enough that everyone could hear. 

But later, when Lindsay came out of the shower, Brian and Justin were curled up together, their faces only inches from each other.  She smiled, looking over the boys.  Michael, Emmett, and Ted were all together on the other bed, fast asleep. 

Lindsay slid under the covers of the bed where Justin and Brian were sleeping and shut off the bedside lamp.  The room fell into darkness. And for the first time in a long time, they all slept peacefully, without waking every hour to make sure they were safe or because of painful dreams.


	26. Homeward Bound

 

"Get up you little shits!" a female voice called cheerfully.  "We got a long drive!" 

The boys and Lindsay stirred.  "What time is it?" Justin asked.   "Time to go!" the female voice said, closer.  Justin sat up abruptly, clutching at Brian's arm.  That woman…Deb…Debbie?…was standing right there at the end of the beds.  

"Get up, kids.  We got a long trip ahead of us." 

"Alright, Deb," Brian said.   

"Wait, Ma.  What about Ben?" Michael cried.  "We can't just leave him here!"  He sat up too.  His hair was sticking straight up, and there was sleep crust visible on the corners of his eyes.  Those eyes narrowed angrily at his mother.   

"Don't be stupid," Deb said, taking a few steps toward Michael.  "Vic's gonna come down and be with him until he can come home." 

"Vic?" Brian said.  "You're sending your brother down here to stay with Ben?" 

"He offered," she said.  "Now, get up.  Carl already rented the minivan."  She smacked Michael's head and turned, marching herself out of the room the same way she'd marched in. 

Emmett groaned and rolled out of bed.  "I get the first shower," he said grumpily, "and I'm not sharing."

                                                 **** 

Deb came storming in twice more, shouting at them to 'hurry their little asses up already!' before all six of them were cleaned, dressed in their still-dirty clothing, and ready to go.   

"I don't think we really needed a minivan, honey," Carl said, looking at the six teenagers slouched outside the van door.  "If we'd have kept the other vehicle—" 

"Vic can drive it home with Ben," Deb replied, flipping her hand at her.  "It'll be more comfortable this way."

 Brian saw Carl raise his eyebrow, and he couldn't say he blamed him.  He had Justin nestled under one arm and Linds curled under the other, and even with her slightly pregnant belly, the three of them didn't take up much space.  Emmett was built like a string bean, of course, and even Michael and Ted were skinny. 

"Well, get in then," Carl said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.  "Let's get this show on the road." 

Brian took the initiative to climb into the back, and Justin and Lindsay made themselves comfortable on either side of him.  Emmett and Ted slid into the second row of seats.  But Michael hesitated. 

"Come on, honey," Deb said.  "We got a long drive ahead of us." 

"I know," Michael said.  He bit his lip for a moment.   And then, he turned and bolted back towards the hospital. 

"Michael Novotny, get back here!" Deb yelled.  She opened her door, looking ready to get out and go after him. 

"What's he doing?" Justin whispered to Emmett, who shrugged.   

Brian sighed.  "He's saying goodbye to Ben," he said.  "You know he's the type to kiss his lover goodbye.  He's a romantic to the core."   

He was trying to sound disgusted, Justin could tell, but he wasn't really.  He bit back a smile. 

"I'll go get him, Deb," Carl said quietly.  "Just wait here, okay?" 

"But—but—"  Deb was stuttering her indignation.  "I'm gonna kick that little—" 

"Relax, Debbie.  I'll be right back."  And Carl put the keys to the van in his pocket and started back into the hospital at a mid-speed lope. Debbie stared after him, looking affronted.  

Brian smirked. "He's not so bad," he said.                                                 

******* 

When they returned from the building, Michael didn't look so tortured anymore.  Debbie was outside of the car, her fists clenched against her hips, watching both Carl and Michael approach. 

"Michael Charles Novotny!" she said.  "I ought to—oh, you little!" She smacked his head, and then his rear.  "Get in the van," she said. 

Michael got in the van.  He smiled at his friends in the backseat; it was a pretty big smile. 

"What?" Emmett asked, excitedly.  He was always good at reading expressions.  "Michael?  What's going on?" 

"Ben woke up!" Michael said.   

"Huh?" Emmett said.  "He woke up?" 

"From the surgery and stuff!  He's gonna be okay!  I mean, he's in pain and stuff, and he's doped up on Percosat or something—" 

"Damn.  I wish I had some of that," Brian commented, earning a glare from Michael. 

"—but he kissed me back and—oh."  Michael looked over his shoulder towards Carl, but Carl didn't seemed fazed. 

"Carl already knows you're queer, honey," Debbie said bluntly, making Michael wince.

 "Mom!" he cried. 

"Well?  I'm not gonna have any more of that shit like with Tony," she replied.  Michael winced again. 

"So your boyfriend's okay?" Brian said. 

"Yeah," Michael said.  "It's gonna be okay." 

The minivan fell into silence.  Lindsay let her hand trail over her stomach.  Brian thought of his parents; Justin thought of his.  Emmett wondered if Pittsburgh would be kinder than Hazlehurst.  Ted wondered if things would fall into place for him.  Would things really be okay? 

The road zipped by outside the window, and they all watched it go.  There was nothing to do now except find out…through experience.  The most terrifying way.                                                

\ **************** 

By the time they pulled into Pittsburgh's city limits, all of the teenagers in the back were sleeping, their heads leaning against each other's shoulders.  

Carl pulled into the driveway of Debbie's house and put the vehicle in park. He and Deb looked back at them in the mirror.  

They were such enigmas, these kids.  They looked so young, and so old at the same time.  There was a tiredness on Lindsay's face, but she still looked like a beautiful 18 year old girl.  Her pregnancy wasn't highly apparent yet; she was dressed in blue jeans and an oversized thrift store tee shirt.  That blond, sunshine-y kid—Justin—was adorable, with all that blond hair.  He was obviously enamored of Brian, who had his usual tough mask that Deb could see through so easily…and Emmett, who had worry lines creasing his forehead even in sleep, and Ted, who seemed to have too much responsibility on his shoulders.  And her Michael, who had seen way too much…he was her baby.  He was supposed to stay safe, with her, not out on the street!  She wanted to keep them all safe.  And she would, damn it, one way or another. 

"Okay, kids," she said, keeping her voice relatively quiet.  "We're home." To her surprise, every last one of them stirred.  Their eyes popped open, blue and brown and hazel, and connected with hers.  

"Home?" Justin said, sounding sleepy. 

"My house.  In Pittsburgh," Debbie clarified.  "I've got enough room for you all, at least for a little while.  We can figure out something more permanent tomorrow, but I think all of you want to sleep now, right?" 

Six nodding heads met her question.  She nodded back. "Okay.  Michael, you know where your room is; Brian and Justin can sleep in Vic's bed.  Grab some fresh blankets if you want Brian; they haven't moved from the linen closet.  I'll pull out the couch for you two," she said, pointing at Emmett and Ted.  "Lindsay, if you don't mind sharing with me, I've got a queen-sized bed.  I promise I don't kick." Lindsay nodded along with the other teenagers, and Debbie nodded decisively.  

"All right," she replied.  "Let's get settled then.  We'll all feel better after a good night's sleep, okay?" 

She turned to Carl, who was smiling at her, and squeezed his hand.  "Thank you so much, Carl," she said. He smiled back, and then leaned in and kissed her.  

"You're something, Deb," he said, sounding admiring.  "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" 

"All right," she replied.   He squeezed her hand back, and then released her.  

"You've got six kids to take care of," he said. 

She looked at the teenagers, who began to get out of the minivan, and sighed. "Yes," she said.  "Yes, I do.  And damn if I'm not too old for this." 

"Never," Carl replied.   

                                                          ***********

 Brian did remember where the linen closet was, and he grabbed a blanket to throw over Vic's bed.  

"It's only fair," he said, grinning and pushing Justin down onto the bed.  "I mean, it's not my bed…"  

He leaned over and kissed Justin passionately. Justin returned the kiss, then pulled back.  

"Wait," he said.  "This is Michael's uncle's bed." 

"Yeah," Brian said.  "So?" 

"We can't—" 

"Bet we can," Brian replied. 

"No way!" Justin said.  "That's too gross!" 

Brian licked along Justin's jaw.  "Bet it's not…" he teased.

 "Brian!" Justin said, jerking away.  "Seriously!" 

Brian sighed and rolled over so he was lying next to Justin.  "Seriously?  You're gonna let something like that stop you?" 

Justin sighed.  "We're back in the Pitts," he said. It seemed like a non-sequitor, but Brian understood immediately.  Both he and Justin had fled from here, at different times, but from similar situations.  They'd been discovered, beaten, and ran, and now they were back. 

"Was this a huge mistake?" Justin whispered. 

"Yes," Brian said.  "We should totally fuck."  He kept his tone light. 

"Brian, I'm serious," Justin said.  "You know what I'm talking about." 

Brian sighed too.  "Justin…" he replied wearily. 

Justin sighed and put his arms behind his head.  "I keep thinking about how I left…I just ran out on Mom and Molly.  What if Molly hates me now?  I love my sister, Brian."  He turned his head to the side and studied Brian's tense profile.  A muscle was working in his perfect jaw. 

"I fucking hate my family," Brian said flatly, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach.  "Claire is a bitch.  My father is a drunk, and my mother's a religious freak.  I'm sure…well, I know that I'll never set foot in that house again," he said.  "They've probably burned my stuff long ago." The bitterness in his voice made Justin's stomach hurt.  

He'd heard the story one night after the stitches, while Brian was under the influence of one of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed, of how Brian had ended up on the streets.  He knew that Brian's life had been far harder than his own, that even before his father had found out he was gay, he'd been beaten by his father and emotionally tortured by his mother, and that he and his sister were like oil and water.  

He blinked back moisture and turned onto his side, resting his palm gently on Brian's chest and curling his head to Brian's shoulder. 

"What?" Brian said, his voice coarse.  Justin kissed the bare shoulder lightly. 

"Nothing," Justin said.  He'd learned the hard way that Brian didn't go for confessions of love.  But love in action…well, he could handle that.  And Justin was perfectly okay with showing his care and love like that right now.


	27. Positive

"What?  Oh my God, Vic, please tell me you're making some kind of god-awful joke." 

Michael woke up immediately.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his mother sound so upset.  He wondered why her voice was so clear, then remembered: that vent went straight from the kitchen to his room.  He held his breath. 

"He's just a kid, though.  And Michael…oh my God.  He's going to have to be tested.  They were lovers, Vic!"  His mother's voice rose shrilly. 

 

She was talking about Ben.  But what was wrong with him?  What was with the past tense?  His throat constricted suddenly, and his body went cold.  No.  No.  Ben couldn't have. 

 

He jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, nearly hitting his mother.  "What's going on?" he demanded of his mother.  Her face was white, and her red wig was askew on her head.   

"Michael's here, Vic," she said.  "I'll call you later." 

"Is Ben okay?" Michael demanded.  Debbie hung up the phone.  "Ma?  Ma!  I heard that conversation.  What's wrong with Ben?" 

She turned around, and Michael saw the tears in her eyes.  "Oh, honey," she said, reaching for him.  He allowed her to hug him. 

"Please, Ma.  He's okay, isn't he?" Michael begged, his heart aching. His mother kissed the top of his head and pushed Michael out to arm's length.  

 

"They tested him, Michael."  Her words were stilted.  "He's HIV positive." 

Michael's world felt airless for a long moment.  Ben?  HIV positive?  Mr. condom-every-time?  Tested every three months?  

 

"But…no.  There's been a mistake," Michael said.  "Ben's so careful…" 

"Honey, when he got attacked…"  Debbie couldn't finish her sentence. She didn't have to.  Michael knew. 

"Oh my God," he whimpered.  "No.  NO!" He spun towards the living room, and saw Emmett and Ted sitting up on the pull-out.  Both looked worried and slightly sick to their stomachs. 

"Oh, honey," Emmett whispered. 

Michael felt the tears behind his eyes.  He wanted to get away, suddenly.  Away from their sympathetic eyes, and their thoughts, which he could almost hear. 

He bolted, in bare feet and pajamas, right out the door and down the block. 

……… 

When Brian and Justin came downstairs, four somber faces met theirs. 

"What's going on?" Justin asked gingerly. 

"It's Ben," Debbie said. Brian stood up straighter.  He locked his eyes with Deb's, silently asking the question.  She nodded. 

"Fuck," Brian said softly. 

"What?" Justin asked, knowing he'd missed something. 

Lindsay took a deep breath, and swallowed.  "Ben was tested, at the hospital.  He…he's positive.  HIV positive." 

Justin felt like he'd been hit in the gut.  Not Ben.  Ben, who lectured everyone on safe sex and condoms and no blood or body fluid contact like he was a professor…oh God.   

Then his thoughts immediately flashed to someone else.  "Where's Michael?" he asked. 

"He ran off," Ted said softly.  "When Deb told him.  He just ran for it.  Didn't even put his shoes on." 

Brian raised his eyebrows.  "No shoes?" he asked. 

"Nope," Emmett said. 

"Well…then he didn't go far." Brian headed for the door. 

"Where are you going Brian?" Lindsay called.  

 

Brian shrugged, pulling his shoes on quickly.  He headed out the door without another word. 

"Where's he going?" Emmett echoed. 

Surprisingly, it was Debbie who answered.  "He's going after Michael," she replied.  And there was the lightest hint of a smile in her voice. 

******* 

Brian found Michael exactly where he thought he would: at the playground half a dozen blocks away from his house. His friend was sitting on a swing, not swinging.  His bare feet were pressed into the wood chips, and his shoulders were shaking.  

 

Brian sat down on the next swing. "Mikey," he said. 

He could hear Michael crying, but Michael didn't say anything.  Brian sighed and used his feet to push the swing he was sitting on so he was right next to Michael, and put his arm around his friend's shoulders. 

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly into Michael's ear. 

Michael turned then, and nearly threw himself into Brian's arms.  Brian caught him, afraid he was going to fall on his ass into the wood chips.  

 

"Hey, hey," he said, standing.  "Come on, Michael."  But Michael was crying too hard to do anything but hang on to Brian.  And so, even though it wasn't really Brian's style, he allowed it.   

They stood there on the playground in each other's arms for a long time.  Brian was sure Michael's feet had to be hurting from standing on those woodchips, but Michael didn't seem to notice it.  

 

Finally, Michael's shaking slowed, and he pushed back away from Brian. His eyes were red and puffy from all those tears.  He dragged his forearm over them. 

"He's positive, Brian," Michael said. 

"Yeah, I know," Brian replied. 

"And I love him." 

Brian sighed.  "Yeah.  I know," he said. 

"He's gonna die!"  Michael's eyes started to leak again. 

"We're all gonna die, Mikey," Brian replied.  "You know how many times we all almost died out there?  You almost lost him a couple of days ago.  But you didn't.  He's alive.  And he'll be alright.  Your Uncle Vic's alright, isn't he?" 

Michael sniffed, but he nodded. 

"Alright.  So stop thinking about that shit.  You should call him on the phone and talk to him.  Tell him all that lovey shit you always spew; I'm sure he's going into withdrawal after almost 24 hours without it.  Be your normal dopey self.  You still love him…so don't act like this has changed it." 

Michael nodded again, more strongly this time.  "Right," he said. 

"Okay," Brian said.  He put his arm over Michael's shoulder.  "Now, come on.  Let's get your ass home before you step on a nail and we have to hit the hospital for a tetanus shot." 

*****

"Hello?"  Ben's voice sounded tired and sad over the phone lines. 

"Ben?  It's me, baby."  Michael was nervous, but he tried not to be.  It was Ben; the man he loved.  That hadn't changed.  "How are you doing?" 

"You heard, right?" Ben said. 

Michael licked his lips.  "Yeah.  I heard."  He paused.  "I'm so sorry." 

The silence was long.  For a moment, Michael was afraid that Ben had hung up on him. 

"It's not your fault," Ben replied.  "It just is." 

"Zen Ben," Michael remarked without thinking. 

"What?" Ben replied.  There was…something…in his voice. 

"Uh…" Michael said.  "You sounded so…Zen…there." 

There was another long pause, and then, to Michael's surprise, a small chuckle.  "Zen Ben," Ben replied.  "I don't know.  I was pretty un-Zen when they told me…now I'm just tired." 

"You and Vic been talking?" Michael asked. 

"Yeah.  You never told me your uncle had AIDS." 

"It never came up, I guess," Michael said.   There was another long pause.   

Ben broke it.  "So…am I coming to Pittsburgh with your uncle when they let me out of the hospital?" he asked.  He sounded nervous.  Did he really think Michael would tell him no? 

"You better!" Michael replied vehemently.  "I miss you."   

He heard Ben sigh.  "I miss you too, baby,"  he said. 

"Love you," Michael offered, praying that Ben would say it back.  That nothing had changed. 

"I love you too," Ben said. 

"Bye." 

"Bye." 

Ben disconnected first.  Michael sighed and let the phone slide into the cradle. It would take them awhile, he knew, and things would be a little different…but he still loved Ben with all his heart, and he hoped Ben felt the same way.  They would be all right. 


	28. Back Where You Belong (Ben and Michael)

"He's coming home today!"  Michael was practically bouncing. 

"You already told us, Michael," Ted said, crunching on dry cereal as he looked at a pile of papers he'd have to fill out to transfer to Carnegie-Mellon.   

"Like forty times," Justin said. 

"Each minute," Brian added. 

"Don't be so mean, guys," Lindsay said, tilting her head reproachfully at the boys situated around Deb's kitchen table, shoveling cereal, toast, and other breakfast foods into their mouths.  "It's good news."  She smiled at Michael.  "I'm glad.  For you both." 

"Thank you, Lindsay," Michael said, with as much dignity he could muster. 

"I'm glad for you too, honey," Emmett said, as if he didn't want to be left out.  He put another forkful of toast into his mouth, his arm carefully guarding his plate. 

"Thanks, Em," Michael replied, grinning at his skinny friend. 

"Yeah, well, coming home or not," Debbie Novotny replied, "All of you little assholes are going to school.  It took us half a week to get you all registered; you're gonna graduate with your respective goddamn classes, you hear me?" 

"You can't be serious, Ma," Michael protested. 

"Wanna bet?" Debbie countered.  "It's gonna be hours before they get here anyway, and Ben's gonna be tired.  Don't worry honey," she said, and here she winked at her son, "I'll have him tucked all cozy in your bed by the time you get back from school…but no strenuous activity, or I'll rip your balls off myself, hear me?." 

Michael turned so red he was almost purple.  Around him, his friends laughed. 

"Come on, Mikey," Brian said.  "She got you good there." 

"No…uh, strenuous activity," Michael agreed, his face still red. 

"You and Vic better have a talk," Debbie said, frowning.  "Shit.  And he and Ben, too." 

The laughing faces around the table all turned serious as the implications of what she meant sunk in.  Vic, who had AIDS, would hopefully be up-to-date on exactly how to prevent spreading HIV to your partner…since Ben was now positive, and Michael still was negative.  And wanted to stay that way. 

"Don't worry so much, Ma," Michael said seriously.  "No strenuous activity.  Promise." 

She lightly slapped his face.  "Good boy," she said absently. 

Michael stood up and grabbed his book bag, and the other teenagers followed his example, following him out the door. 

"Shit," Michael said as they headed down the driveway.  "This really is going to change things, isn't it?" 

It was Brian, in his usual Brian way, who said what they all were thinking.  "No shit, Sherlock." 

And Michael looked a little hurt…but he also looked thoughtful.  And that was good, that he was thinking for once.                                                             

***** 

On the way to the high school, Justin let his feet drag a little, knowing Brian would likely slow down with him. He was right.  

"Why're you walking so slow?" Brian asked. 

"That could have been us," Justin said.  It had been on his mind since he'd heard that Ben was positive.  All he could think about was that night…how Brian had saved him…and how, if those test results had come out differently that day, Michael and Ben's situation could be his and Brian's.   

Brian rolled his eyes.  "Us?  That could never be us.  For one thing," Brian said, "there would have to be a gooey, sappy, love-bird-y, 'til-death-do-we-part 'us' to be." Brian looked contemptuous. 

Justin ignored that.  He knew Brian better than that by now.  Whether he'd admit it or not, he and Brian were an 'us'. 

"What if one of those guys that night—" Justin said. 

"Didn't happen," Brian replied curtly.   

"It could have," Justin said quietly. 

Brian rolled his eyes again.  "Well, aren't you just full of sunshine this morning," he said. 

"Michael could get it from Ben," Justin said, moving on to his other worry, seeing that his first one was not about to bear fruit. 

"Yeah, he could," Brian said.  "But think of it like this.  I don't have it.  Em doesn't have it.  Linds doesn't have it.  And I know that we've all had sex with people who have it, because the kinds of people who screw whores?  They have it.  Condoms, Justin, condoms.  They're a rubber miracle." 

Justin blinked.  "But—" 

"Me and Mikey?  We've talked about this, okay?  The whole fucking conversation, over and over.  That would be the reason my side of the bed's cold at three am." 

Justin had wondered; Brian seemed to be gone peeing an awful lot. 

"It could happen, and if it does, you can bet I'll strangle Ben with my own bare hands.  But Michael…he loves him."  The word dripped sarcasm, but Justin knew that it was true, and he knew deep down, Brian knew it was true too.  "So…well, Ben knows how to use a condom."  Brian snorted slightly. 

"But—" 

"What the hell do you expect me to do about it, Justin?" Brian asked.  He stopped and looked down at the blond.  Justin saw the flash of worry in the brunet's eyes then, which was quickly covered up by that usual contempt.  

"Now, come on, or we're gonna be late, and 'Mama Deb' is gonna kill us both." He turned and strode off towards the school on his long legs, forcing Justin to scuttle after him.                                                             

*****

Michael ran home from school, leaving his friends in the dust.  He burst through the front door.  "Ma?" he called breathlessly.  "Ma, is he here?"   

 "Shh, Michael!" Deb said.  "You're gonna wake him up!"  

He heard Vic laugh from the kitchen, and he saw his uncle's grinning face sipping coffee from one of his mother's mismatched mugs.  

"Damn right he's gonna wake him up," he said.  "I have a feeling Ben would be pretty pissed off if you didn't wake him.  Better play your best Prince Charming, Michael.  Wake him with a nice kiss.  You remember that fairy TAIL, don't you?" 

Michael rolled his eyes at his uncle, who winked at him.  "Go on," he said, flicking his hand at him.  "He's in your room." 

"Just like I promised," Debbie said. Michael took a deep breath to steady himself, then bolted up the stairs. 

But when he stood in front of his closed bedroom door, he paused.  What if Ben had changed somehow?  Would he look different?  Would he be different?  What if he wasn't the Ben that Michael was in love with anymore? 

Michael took another deep breath.  There was, he supposed, only one way to find out. Slowly, he opened his door and peeked inside. 

Ben was sleeping in his bed, slouched on his side, one muscular arm wrapped over a pillow.  The Captain Astro comforter looked incongruous next to his handsome, chiseled jaw.   

Michael shut the door behind himself, then crept to the side of the bed and knelt, studying Ben's handsome face.  It was the same beautiful face he'd slept next to for so long; the same neck he'd nuzzled and kissed when they'd made love, the same arms that had held him tenderly afterwards.   

He leaned forward, and kissed Ben, gently at first, but when Ben began to react, with more vigor.  His eyes popped open, meeting Michael's own, and Michael pulled away just far enough to speak. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he said with a little smile.  "It's me; Prince Charming." 

Ben's lips curled up into a smiled too, and his arm disentangled from the pillow.  "Michael," he whispered. 

"Got room for one more?" Michael asked. 

"Mmm," Ben said.  "Only if it's you."  He pushed the pillow to the floor and scooted over carefully.  "Watch the bandage." 

Michael slipped into the bed, careful not to upset the bandage covering Ben's stitches, and wrapped his arms around his lover.  "I've missed you," he whispered. 

"I've missed you too, baby," Ben whispered back, kissing him again.  "I've been dreaming about this for so long…" 

"Careful," Michael said, nuzzling into Ben's neck.  "No strenuous activity.  Ma's threatened to rip my balls off." 

Ben chuckled.  "Your ma's got a way with words," he said. 

"And deeds," Michael replied. 

Ben's laughter made Michael's whole body feel warm.  They'd missed each other so much. This...this was better.  

There was nothing like coming back where you belonged.


End file.
